Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth
by Krum Cake
Summary: Peek into the intimate pages of Seth Clearwater's man-journal as he complains about life, love, and teenage shape-shifter angst. Post BD, canon-compliant, rating for language and sex humor...because Seth is a teenage boy.
1. Caught Having Dirty Thoughts Again

**A/N:** So this story was inspired by Book 2 of _Breaking Dawn_, which was incredibly refreshing in its perspective. Basically, the Quileutes are amazing, and I've always been more fond of them than even the main characters. Seth is one of my favorites, so I've decided to continue his story by delving into the pages of his quirky and ridiculous (and totally masculine) man-journal. But if you're a fan of the vampires, don't worry. Expect plenty of cameos. There are just a few things I want to address before finally getting on with it:

This story is rated M for strong language, sex humor, and underage drinking. To sum it all up, Seth's a teenage boy.

Also, please do not assume that any of Seth's views are shared by me. He may make comments at times that are offensive, and I'm certainly not aiming to offend. :]

You should know that this story was mostly written on a whim and to help cure the writers' block I had (and still have) for one of my other stories. I'll be completely honest up front and say that I am not being as careful with this story as I would be with others. So, if you see inconsistencies, typos, and other really crappy things, please feel free to point them out. But don't think that this is me just posting random crap online: I actually do care about Seth and the story I'm trying to tell.

And lastly:

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters or mentioned plotlines associated with the Twilight Saga. They are all the rightful property of Stephenie Meyer.

* * *

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth**

_Chapter One_

**April 23, 2007**

I'll be completely honest here. I've never really understood those movies where a stereotypical protective figure (i.e. parental unit, ridiculously compassionate lover, 2D best friend) allows the protectee (child/conflicted lover/other half of contrived best friend thing) to foolishly chase after their deepest desire (the bad boy/another man/the dude they've both been crushing on), saying it's all right because, well damn, the protectee is _happy_. I mean, okay, maybe I'm totally self-absorbed and selfish and all that, but no one's happiness is more central to myself than my own. I could never blow chunks about someone else's happiness due to a wrong choice ensuring my own because that's…that's fucking masochistic.

Especially when my mom's happiness is being caused by the fact that she's absolutely no-doubt-about it banging my friend's dad.

Here's the scenario:

Protector: Me, the "loveable and irascible" Seth Clearwater, as described by Quil Ateara Jr.

Protectee: Sue Clearwater, my mom. My dad died, so I'm man of the house. I gotta look out for her.

Foolish Desire of Protectee: To get it on with Charlie Swan.

Vicarious Happiness Felt on Protector's Part: None.

I can't make things any more clear than that. See, although I'm not really what you could call a mama's boy (Paul can shut his fat mouth), I still look out for her, you know? Perhaps it's unnatural for a guy to take such a close look at his parent's perspective, but it's not hard to feel where she's coming from as far as losing a husband and having to raise two wolf children on her own: IT SUCKS. She's gotta be miserable. Heck, for awhile, despite my ability to explode into a ball of fir at whim and will (which is fucking awesome), I was still a total mess because, well, Dad was _dead_. It must have been a billion times rougher for Mom.

But I've got limits. Sucky life or not, she can't just go screwing the next single dude that lands on her doorstep. I don't care how hot he is.

(Disclaimer: I have not, under any circumstance, ever thought of Charlie Swan as "hot." Christ. I was just trying to make a point. I mean, I'm just assuming my mom thinks he is. That at least would explain some of her behavior.)

The problem I've got with this is that she's kind of tossing mine and Leah's lives out the window in the process. Dad died barely a year ago (I'm not thinking about it, I hate thinking about it, I won't think about it), and there's been a lot of weird shit going on, what with vampires and demon babies and stuff, and the last thing we need is our mom running around like some teenager with her sweetheart.

I'm trying so hard to be understanding here. I want my mom to be happy, I really do, but I can't quite find it in myself to be totally okay with this. If I were trapped in the fifties or whatever, I'd totally call Charlie a "swell guy," cuz he is. He's a police officer, and if he was in one of those shitty B movies about renegade cops or something, he would definitely be one of the good cops. He's got a sense of humor, is totally laidback, and sort of turns a blind eye to the fact that his daughter's the immortal stuff of legends. It's not _him_ I've got a problem with.

It's him and my mom _together_.

I'm not kidding when I say they're like teenagers running rampant about Washington. No one's safe—not in La Push, not in Forks. If this were college, they'd be taking advantage of the whole sock on the doorknob thing.

NOT that I've ever caught them doing the horizontal tango, but—

God, shit, who ever came up with that term? It's wretched. My eye is spasming kind of.

NOT that I've ever caught them "getting busy," (pardon me while I puke out the window) but I have been unlucky enough to walk in the house while they were making out on the same couch where I play video games, thank you very much, and Leah told me about this one time she heard mom using pet names while she talked to him on the phone. I'd share these names, but, trusty man-journal, I'm not sure your pages could handle it.

Mom says that she and Charlie are "just dating," that I need to understand her "needs and her right to heal and move on." But I'm not sure that she totally gets my issue. I can (almost) handle the part about her moving on from Dad—even though it's hardly been a year. It's the fact that I have to _witness_ every aspect of this so-called healing.

I just wish she'd take therapy or something.

--

**April 25, 2008**

I was caught having dirty thoughts again.

But for the record, this is NOT MY FAULT.

No, seriously. I mean, yeah, okay, I may deserve the broken radius in my left arm, because my mental images of Rachel Black stark naked were…God, they were _hot_, and I guess they were pretty accurate since I stole them right from Paul's gutter of a mind, but for God's sake, does no one think to beat the crap out of PAUL? He's the perv who had the thoughts in the first place while in wolf form. Jeez.

The thing is, Jake's not really a rational guy. All instinct.

_You sicko! You bastard! Did you really think the old 'Paul corrupted my brainwaves' excuse was going to work?_ my fearless Alpha roared to the musical background of my limb cracking. He had me pinned up against a tree, his Christmas ham-sized paws forced against my furry chest.

_Um…yes?_

Of course, the last time Paul's thoughts were ever able to taint my sanctuary of a mind was…oh, last September. But there was no way in hell I was going to allow Jake to go all Alpha on me and abuse me just because my mind is a steel trap when it comes to naked women. That sort of thing is hardwired into every male's nervous system, I think.

A low, feral snarl ripped from his throat and I could see the gleam of his teeth in my face despite the gloom of the Washington forest surrounding us. _You can't even hear Paul's thoughts anymore! _he menaced. The leaves around us, fresh and springy and not at all dead enough for grade-A rustling, managed to whip up a good rustle anyway, just to sound threatening in tandem with Jacob's seething anger.

_Hot naked bodies aren't exactly an image you forget, Jake!_

I could smell the bile on his breath that rolled up from his stomach. His thoughts were too fast for me to understand, too scrambled. I heard snippets though, and it all basically came back to one point: _NOT MY SISTER._

I didn't want to do what had to happen next, but I couldn't see another way out of it. Because (crazy as it sounds) I actually kind of like my arms and legs intact and functional. But my tough skin was beginning to burn under the pressure of his paws, and my lungs felt crushed and restricted. So I risked the possibility of needing eleven years of serious therapy and mind-yelped, _Remember that time you saw Leah phase back into human form?!_

And by "that time," I actually mean "those times," and I honestly wasn't keeping track, because who in their right mind keeps track of all the times he sees his sister—

I AM NOT FINISHING THAT SENTENCE.

Happythoughtshappythoughts.

Fuck it. There are no happy thoughts. Because both to my benefit and my detriment, my plan worked. And quite without my permission, Jacob conjured up certain images that probably should have contained censor bars across specific parts of my sister Leah's anatomy. A let out a high-pitched whine and batted at his head with my paw.

_Stop it, God, ew, mind soap! Mind soap! Do you see my point, Jake?_

He was reluctant and clearly oblivious to my horrified twitching. _Well, I…that is—_

_No stuttering 'round the point. When was the last time you happened to witness, um, that?_

_Jesus, I don't know. A month ago, maybe—_

_AHA! MY POINT EXACTLY!_

_That's completely different—_

_No, it's not. Now please, I can hardly breathe, and your breath isn't helping matters._

Jacob finally backed off, but he wasn't through yet. A took a few grateful wheezes as I lowered back to all four paws, careful not to put pressure on my fractured leg. I may have upped the theatrics for Jacob's benefit (oh, look at me, pity me, I'm gimptastic you son of a bitch), but whatever. Like he even cared. _But no one mentioned Rachel to trigger a memory,_ he finally thought, suspicious, and I could see that his hackles were raised.

_Dude, c'mon, just chill. The psyche of a teenage male cannot fully be explained. Why certain memories are recalled at certain moments in time has never been clear—_

_Shut up._

And I did. For about three seconds.

_All I'm saying is, you're taking it out on the wrong guy. I mean, if that's a memory of Paul's I caught over six _months_ ago, only imagine—_

I really should learn to keep my mouth shut.

Needless to say, with Jacob's aid, the fracture in my leg quickly become a complete break, and I was forced to hobble back home while Jacob sped ahead of me like a complete and total show off. Our patrol was far from over, but I don't think either of us gave a crap. Sam sometimes tag-teamed with us and had people out too, and since I had plenty of time to take in my surroundings as I stumbled home like a poor, defenseless cripple, I could taste the scents of Jared and Brady in the air, familiar and yet slightly off, different. A result of the fissure between our packs.

Of course, we're all friendly now. Having separate packs is mostly a matter of sanity, especially since about eighty other kids started phasing back in December when the Cullens decided to have a vampire reunion over at their home in Forks. Luckily, Sam picked up all those kids, leaving Jake's pack to consist of just me, Leah, Embry, and Quil. I can live with hearing only four voices in my head.

Shit. The whole lot of us need therapy if you ask me. _Only_ four voices, sure, no biggie.

But that's life, I guess. At least I didn't come home to Mom and Charlie swapping spit on my gaming couch again.

No, this time they were in the laundry room.

--

**April 26, 2008**

"You know," Jake said when I joined him for general chillage at Embry's earlier this afternoon, "I'll never understand what Edward could possibly have been thinking when he told me you had some of the kindest, purest thoughts he'd ever heard."

Jake apologized for breaking my arm when I came over, and I told him it was cool, because it wasn't like I hadn't accidentally cracked a rib or two of his when I first saw thoughts of Leah naked in his head way back when she and I first started phasing. It's sick and it's unhealthy for us to be so nonchalant about breaking each other's bones, or so Mom says, but life is just _different_ when you're a shape-shifter. I mean, it's not like we're sending non-wolves to the ER with our super wolf strength, so I don't think it's that big of a deal. We break bones, we apologize, we move on. Besides, it's not like I can stay mad at Jake for too long—he's my Alpha and my friend.

Anyway, I lazily flipped through the channels (using an only slightly wonky arm that had been broken only yesterday) from where I sat with my entire lanky form sprawled across the sofa, ignoring the glares Embry tossed me for having totally commandeered the remote. "He said that?" I asked. "Is he _gay_?"

"Um, I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here and say no."

I snorted, but couldn't help feeling a little bit smug. "Lord only knows what that says about _your_ thoughts, Jake."

"Can it, kid."

Just when I'd settled on some weird Japanese game show that involved contestants running insane obstacles courses and really crappy voice-overs for the announcers, Embry started laughing.

"I'm just—" he said, and broke off for a second to compose himself. "If Cullen's gay, then that makes Bella the hottest man I've ever seen."

Can't say I blame Jake for chucking the bowl of Doritos at his head.

--

**April 30, 2008**

So today I was reminded of another reason why hanging out at my own house is just not a good idea.

See, on the days that Charlie isn't around, either sporting the blue or fishing or whatever, Mom sometimes isn't totally sure what to do with herself, and thus is prone to Ideas with a capital I. The last time she had one of her Ideas, I ended up spending about eighty years of my life toiling out back as I tried to construct the perfect peace garden. Mom, for her part, just stood off to the side and told me what I was doing wrong. And before that, I had to listen to all of her really bad rhymes as she tried to make it big in the greeting card biz. Let's just say that she failed.

I'm not trying to totally knock every single one of my Mom's Ideas. She's pretty creative actually, and artistic as well. But whenever she tries to expand her artistic horizons beyond making kickass quilts and pillows, things sort of go awry. She says she doesn't want to be the stereotypical woman who can't do anything more than sew and crochet, and hey, I hear her on that one because I don't exactly want to be the stereotypical guy who sits around on the couch all day drinking and scratching his beer belly. That's just not cool. I just think she's a little misguided in her attempts to branch out.

"Hey Sethy," she said this morning as she slid nonchalantly into the living room/family room/rec room of our tiny, comfy house. I almost dropped the controller I was holding and felt my stomach curl up. She only called me Sethy when she was about to torture me.

"Hey Mom. Urrrrggghhh." The groan of dread was unintentional. But I have this issue with keeping my feelings to myself.

She sat down on the opposite end of the couch and took a small sip from the cup of hot tea she was holding. "So, I've been thinking…."

"Not another peace garden, I hope. Cuz, uh, working on it sort of had the reverse effect."

She shook her head, still looking calm and cheerful despite my thinly veiled wariness. "No, this isn't a project of mine. This time, it's about you. About your future."

I stared straight ahead at the TV screen in front of me, where Link was frozen beside Epona on pause. This could not be good.

"You've been away from school for almost an entire year, and I think it would be really wonderful if you at least went on to get your high school diploma."

And suddenly it all made sense. This was LEAH'S fault.

Starting in the fall, she's going to be taking psychology classes at Antioch University in Seattle, which is all gung ho about taking on older students and is interested in getting college educations for Native Americans, too. Never mind that we're going broke so she can take these classes. She's really adamant about advancing her education and all of La Push seems to be rooting for her. I can't begrudge her for wanting to make something of herself, but I _can_ begrudge her for putting ideas into Mom's head.

"Mom," I said, not sounding as cool and even as I'd hoped, "I can't just go back to school. For one, I'm gonna be a total moron since I'm a year out, and for two, I kind of look like I'm twenty. The word that comes to mind is _creepy_."

"Well Sethy, that's why I want to enroll you in summer school."

I dropped the controller and it landed face down. Link accidentally sprung back into action, and he and his horse swayed gently on the spot, breathing when I could not.

"SUMMER SCHOOL?"

A small crease formed between Mom's eyebrows. "Yes, summer school. You need to get a good refresher before you can jump right into your junior year."

This was not… No. DOES NOT COMPUTE.

"_But I look like I'm twenty!"_ I wailed. Perhaps my freakish shape-shifter genes could save me.

Mom was not to be shaken. "But your records state that you're sixteen."

"I'll look like a total moron who's failed four times!"

"But you haven't, and your teachers know that, and that's really all that matters, sweetheart."

NO IT'S NOT. MOM'S WRONG. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

I clung onto whatever hope I could find. I whimpered, "But QTS doesn't even offer summer school."

She smiled sweetly. "But Forks High does."

And that was basically the end of it all. So whether I like it or not (and I'm definitely on the "or not" end of things here), I'm going to spend three days a week this summer crammed into some tiny desk at Forks High and looking like some stupid failure in remedial classes so that I'm not only caught up, but so that I can salvage my GPA which I basically trashed towards the end of sophomore year after leaning I had awesome wolf transforming skills.

I'm not against getting an education or anything. It's just…

If I choose to keep up this transforming thing, I can be a teenager forever. I can keep La Push safe by turning into a wolf and beating down any and all predators that come near. Isn't that enough of an occupation? I don't want to be a brainless idiot or anything, but I was sort of thinking that my school career was over. Really, I could almost handle returning to Quileute Tribal School for my last two years. It's the whole "school during the summer" thing that really cramps my style.

And now my arm's starting to feel funny, so I think I'm gonna stop for today.

But seriously, I am never hanging out in my own home again. It's hazardous to my health.


	2. For a Sucky Life, Mine is Pretty Cool

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Two_

**May 1, 2007**

God, my arm still feels really weird. I shouldn't even be wr

Oh, shit.

* * *

**May 2, 2007**

All right, so everything's been taken care of. My arm is back to normal, though I'd be lying if I didn't say there was a lot of PAIN and MISERY involved in getting it there again. I don't care how short-lived a shape-shifter's pain is, either. Messed up genetics or not, I'm gonna milk this for all it's worth. So far I've gotten eight different people to express their sympathy for me (Mrs. Cullen and Bella were the best though, since they made me lots of sugary food to make me feel better), and I'm looking to up the number. Maybe I should head over to Emily's next; she'll feel sorry for me, as will her sister and little Claire (unless she's out with Quil, which is more than likely. And I'd go find them playing at the beach or something, but Quil will just laugh at me, which will count as negative sympathy points, the jerk).

So for the past few days after my confrontation with Jake in the woods, my arm, though healed, had been feeling really weird. I thought it was all better, but every now and then a sharp bolt of pain would shoot up my bone, and I couldn't hold anything remotely heavy.

And it finally hit me. No, I hadn't randomly transformed into a weenie: the bone had set wrong.

And of course, the last time that had happened to any of us was back when Jake had gotten absolutely _flattened_ by one of those scary as fuck newborn vampires—not that I was afraid of them or anything. He was totally decimated, and I distinctly remember Dr. Cullen having to re-break all of his ribs because they'd healed too fast and gotten all fucked up. I always pictured it in my head like the guts of a computer with the wires all screwed up and sparking and stuff.

Anyway, I could see where this was headed, and I didn't like it at all.

My first thought was that I would hop on over to forks and visit Dr. Cullen. He's too nice to ever say no to anyone (especially me, because I rock), and furthermore, he doesn't expect my mom to pay a medical bill for it, and medical bills are just one of many things we can't afford to rack up here in the Clearwater household.

Of course, Jake is basically effing psychic when it comes to anything even remotely related to Nessie. Having venison for dinner? Suddenly, Jake's poking his head through your window, going, "OMG guyz, Nessers is lyke, getting SOOOO good at hunting deer, it's fuckin' craaazaaay! I think I'll head over there and go hunting with her now!!1!11"

So it really shouldn't've surprised me that Jacob just "happened" to be standing outside my front door when I snuck out as quietly as possible to avoid questions and more school-related surprises from my mom and sister.

"Hey, kid," he greeted me with a great big smile.

"Jake."

"Where, uh, where're ya headed?"

"Cullens'."

"Hmm, really? Well, it wasn't necessarily in my agenda, but I s'pose I could tag along with you…."

"You know, Jake, sometimes you're really fucking creepy."

I let him drive in case my arm went into seizure mode and started spazzing out while I was in control of the wheel. I let him know what was going on, and he showed a not-so-surprising lack of concern over the trouble he'd caused me by breaking my arm.

"Probably shouldn't have been thinking about my sister like that, Seth."

Yeah, whatever. I just shrugged it off like it was no big deal. To make a big deal of it would have implied that I was dreading having Dr. Cullen re-break my arm, and no man ever admits to fearing pain unless he's looking to have several jokes made about the nonexistence of his balls. And the nonexistence of my balls is nonexistent, thank you very much.

We could smell the Cullens' home long before we could see it.

For the record, vampires smell FOUL. NASTY. It's sort of the equivalent of walking into a Bath and Body Works store. Each vampire has got their own sickly sweet scent, so when they're all together it's like an onslaught of Warm Vanilla Sugar and Cucumber Melon and Japanese Cherry Blossom and Sweet Pea and it BURNSSSSSSSSS my nose. But as with all unbearable scents, my nose gets used to it after awhile, and I don't even remember it until I walk out of their home and I can smell it on my clothes. That, and the fact that Leah won't let me back in the house until she's poured a bucket of water over my head to dilute the scent. That usually helps me remember it pretty well, too.

And of course, since they have really awesome hearing and Edward can read our minds before we're even in the house, the door flew open the second Jake put the car into park. Of course, he and I have got really awesome hearing, too, so we both looked at one another and said, "Alice," before we could even look to see who'd rolled out the welcome wagon.

"You guys are clogging the pores of my mind!" she cried cheerfully, and from behind her came Nessie's distinct, young voice yelling, "Jacob's here!"

"And what's that make me? Chopped liver?" I grumbled as we crossed the threshold and into the Cullens' startlingly white, yet always comfortable, home.

"No, dog, chopped liver smells better."

"Nice to see you too, Rose." But the blond and I smiled at one another. Making fun of people is Rosalie's form of bonding, and since making fun of people is essential to our wolfy existence in La Push, I can easily identify. She was still smiling when she turned back to face Emmett, whom she was sharing the loveseat with, and before he could open his mouth I warned, "Don't say it."

"Damn, you're getting as good as Edward."

"Or maybe," said the aforementioned vampire, who had just released his daughter from his arms so that she could tackle Jacob and throw her little arms around his neck and pile small, joyful kisses on his cheek, "you're just getting predictable, Emmett."

It's unavoidable. Every time I come over for a visit, Emmett always has to yell "_WHO LET THE DOGS OUT_," which isn't even funny in the first place, and especially not funny now that I've heard it about eight million times.

You ask me why I love this family, these Cullens, and I will tell you that I don't know.

"Look, I'm actually here on business," I said to no one in particular. I spoke loudly to drown out the sound of Jacob's really loud and really annoying laughter as Nessie showed him some presumably hilarious memories. "I need the doc to break my arm for me."

And, as proof of just how seriously messed up all of our lives are, they all expressed absolutely no surprise at my rather preposterous statement and Dr. Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs like my voice had summoned him there. Mrs. Cullen and Bella stuck their heads out of the kitchen and told me they were whipping up an entire feast for Jake and me, and that I was welcome to all the dessert I wanted after the doc was finished snapping me in two.

I learned long ago to never question how they always know to begin whipping up mounds of food before any wolves even show up on their doorstep. I assume it has something to do with Alice, because the disappearance of her "sight" is almost as good as an actual vision depicting some shape-shifting guests. I used to feel bad that they were always cooking for us (I mean, dude, Jake's over like every DAY), especially since they don't even need to waste money on food, but when Bella told me that they don't sleep and that she and Mrs. Cullen and Edward and whoever else likes cooking enjoy actually having something to DO, thank GOD, sweet JESUS, I started feeling less guilty and more lucky. I mean, after all, for a sucky life, mine is pretty cool.

**OH YEAH. EXCEPT FOR WHEN IT SUCKS.**

And trust me, when Dr. Cullen re-broke my arm, it sucked. Badly.

If Nessie was any normal child, she probably would have been crying when I started screaming. But instead she dragged Jake into the doctor's makeshift hospital room by the hand and pressed her cool little palm against my sweating face. Images of Jake falling out of a tree and onto his ass flashed across my mind, and I laughed despite the fire burning in my arm.

"Girl's a treasure," I panted, patting her copper curls.

Jake probably wouldn't have given me such a blazing smile in return if he'd known what she'd shown me.

After Dr. Cullen took some X-rays of my quickly-healing bone (who the hell keeps an X-RAY machine in their _house_?), Mrs. Cullen and Bella kept up their promise by shoving lots of food in my face, and I enjoyed every last bite. The delicious scent of the food was enough to bury the Bath and Body Works effect, thank God.

We stayed for a few more hours, long enough to be sure that my arm had healed properly this time, and then headed home. It took about eight billion years to separate Jake and Nessie, and she only let him go when he promised to be back tomorrow. Little monster already knew he would be coming, because Jake basically never missed a day, but she just wanted to hear him say it.

"Hey Seth?" Emmett said suddenly as we were headed out the door.

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering…WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?!"

I considered telling the overgrown child to fuck off, but because I was in the presence of young, innocent ears, I just grumbled, "Your mom," and closed the door behind me.

* * *

**May 5, 2007**

Silly me. I should have checked the calendar before I walked out of the house today. I completely forgot that today was national Have a Good Laugh at Seth's Expense Day. Let's have an overview of my verbally abusive day:

Leah: "Oh my God, Seth, I was just out running and… God, seriously, you really should learn to close your drapes before getting dressed in the morning. I hope you know that you flashed basically half of La Push…." –cue me dying and Leah cracking up-

Mom: "Seth, sweets. I think we need to talk. Billy tells me that he heard from Quil who heard from Jacob that you're having…_thoughts _about Rachel, and I realized that in the turbulent events of the past year, I inadvertently neglected to talk to you about the changes that every young male experiences as he passes through puberty…" –cue me dying for the second time in ten minutes, Mom internally laughing at me (she totally was), and Leah bursting out into laughter from her room-

Jacob: "So you know, Paul is looking for you, and when he finds you, he's going to beat the shit out of you. Sorry Quil's got a big mouth." –cue Jacob cackling madly-

Embry: "Dude! Summer school? Sucks to be you!" –cue Embry busting a gut over my misery-

Paul: "No, don't flip out, Seth. I'm not gonna beat the shit out of you. I heard that you received The Talk from your mom this morning and I figured that was punishment enough." –cue Paul throwing his head back in uproarious laughter, then suddenly sobering and staring at me intensely- "But seriously. Don't do it again."

Quil: "Was that your attempt to punch me? Try it again and I'll sick Claire and her band of toddler friends on you! See how well you stand up to _that_!" –you get the picture-

Random Old Guy from the Convenient Store: "Hey, you're the kid that flashed all of La Push this morning! I'm sorry, but no shirt, no shoes, no pants, no service." –cue really creepy toothless laughter from the pedo-

Charlie: "Ah, got the ol' talk today, eh Seth? Don't worry, your mom knows what she's talking about." –cue Charlie presumably laughing, though I wouldn't know due to my very dead state-

So, all in all, not one of my better days.

* * *

**May 6, 2007**

So I've been thinking about a conversation I had with Bella when I was over the Cullens' a few days ago. See, she and I, despite being of two completely different species, share a bond over the fact that our parents are banging each other.

"Doesn't it—doesn't it _bother_ you?" I asked her when we were both sitting on the couch. My healing arm was pulled across her lap and she was running her cool fingers over it to ease the swelling. Girl's a walking, talking ice pack. I got the feeling that Edward wasn't originally very happy about this arrangement, but she said that she owed me for the time I kept her warm when she was pregnant. Besides, hadn't he said that I had a "pure and kind" mind?

Pwnt, Edward.

There was the smallest twitch in Bella's pale face, barely perceptible, and then she said, "I was at first. I thought he was retaliating for having lost a daughter." There might have been sadness in her copper eyes—not blood red, but not quite gold—but she was good at masking it. Even when she was a human, she always seemed to have a desire to keep all of her feelings to herself, even if she was really shitty at it. As a vampire, she seemed to have filled the gaps of her abilities.

It was criminal, really, how outstanding the vampires were at everything. But I had learned long ago that their personalities far outshone their abilities, and that was what kept me coming back to their home often.

Well, Jake too, since he's kind of my best friend. But whatever.

"But now," she continued, "I understand that he probably would have moved on whether I'd left or not. He'd never really let go of Reneé, my mother, and now I think he's finally starting to. And I'm happy for him."

I looked down at my lap, drumming the fingers of my good arm. "But my mom has only had a year to move on from Dad," I mumbled. "I feel like…like…"

"She's dishonoring him?"

I looked over at Bella. Sometimes it still startles me to look at her face, as flawless and angelic as it is. I'm not sure which Bella I prefer—physically, that is. Inside, she's still the same ol' Vampire Girl, as Embry dubbed her. But before she always looked so…real to me—just an average girl, not a supermodel. Perfection is a hard thing to take in though, and even though I sometimes hate being too tall and too skinny and too awkward, I also like the imperfections that make up the guy I see in the mirror everyday. It's nice to feel like a have a little bit of mortality left despite everything thing else that makes me so incredibly abnormal.

She just shook her head slowly. "I wouldn't look at it that way, Seth. She's just doing what she can to cope. She's not running off with some random biker tourist, she's not reverting to illegal substances to cope. No, she's finding comfort in someone who's a good man. I can attest to that."

I picked at the couch. "But he's not…" I trailed off, not wanting to offend Bella.

"He's not Harry," she concluded, and I nodded, feeling a sudden lump in my throat.

"And your mom's not Reneé, but love is funny like that sometimes." She cast a glance out the window where Nessie and Jacob were splashing around in a kiddy pool that Dr. Cullen had set up.

I blanched. "You don't think—"

"That they're in love?" She paused. "No, not yet. But it could come to that."

Alice walked into the room then, the blonde-haired Jasper at her side. "They're going to be happy, Seth. That's the important thing." She and Jasper settled onto the loveseat and Jasper whipped out a deck of cards. It was always interesting to see them play card games, because Alice could predict his moves, but he could always make her doubt her own with his kickass mind-bending powers. They situated themselves with their backs against the arms of the loveseat, leaving an empty space in the middle where the cards could go. They both sat still enough that the cushions would never upset the cards.

"How do you know?" I asked. "My mom's future is always tied to werewolves or shape-shifters or whatever, and you can't see that."

"But Charlie's isn't," Alice replied simply as she began to deal the cards between Jasper and herself. "And yet I can't see his future. That leads me to believe that he and your mother will be happy together."

I looked at Bella. "You knew this?"

She just nodded. "Let it be, Seth. It'll be okay."

And you know, now that I'm sitting here on my bed several days later, I've come to accept that Mom and Charlie are a done deal. But it's even harder to accept that Mom and Dad are a done deal in a completely different sense of the word.

* * *

**A/N: **I've always liked the idea of the supernatural folks of La Push and Forks being good friends after all that's happened between them. The way I see it, Seth and especially Jake are over a lot, and sometimes the others pay a visit. I just think that's how things would have naturally developed.

Thank you for the lovely feedback on the first chapter, and extra thanks to **11June11 **for pointing out a glaring error of mine. All fixed now!

Feedback is appreciated in all forms, whether it be praise, general thoughts, or constrictive criticism. I'm open to anything you've got to say. Thanks for taking the time to read!


	3. Word of the Day: Awkward

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth**_  
Chapter Three_

**May 8, 2007**

So I'm always falling victim to this weird _"Holy shit I just imprinted!"_ paranoia.

By now, Jake and Quil are used to me popping up randomly at their homes, begging them to phase so that they can look into my head and tell me if I've just had another false alarm of if it's the real thing. Time and time again they've told me that I'll know when it's happened, trust them, God, stop bugging them, it'll be obvious, but that doesn't stop my mind going into overdrive every time I feel something even remotely like compassion towards a girl.

There was this one time that I saw an old lady—a tourist staying at the Oceanside Resort, I later found out—walking along Second Beach. She was by herself, and looked like the kind of old bat that should have had 24-hour supervision or something. I mean, she was half-skeleton, with all this leathery skin and stuff. And it's not that I have anything against old people, since I totally respect my elders and Old Quil is basically the most kickass dude I've ever met, but this lady was creepy, all right? AND YET I FELT WORRIED FOR HER.

But I didn't over think it at the time. I mean, c'mon, there was this frail old thing trekking along the beach in thirty degree weather, with no more protection than a stupid shawl wrapped around her shoulders. A shawl! Didn't she have a husband or something? A caretaker? Why was she out on her own? What if she tripped? WHAT IF SHE FELL AND OH MY GOD, WHAT IF SHE FELL AND COULDN'T GET UP??

I didn't want her to be one of those old ladies in those Life Alert infomercials, you know?

I had to abandon my plans. I was going to spend the day attempting to surf, and I had thought that Second Beach was the best place to do it, because anyone who's actually a decent surfer goes to Beach One, and I didn't want anyone laughing their ass off at me.

For the record, I'm still a really crappy surfer. I'm putting Dad's old board to shame.

But anyway, I dropped my dad's board in the sand that day and jogged up to the old woman, not really sure what I was going to say, but knowing I needed to do something.

She was even freakier up close. But in a…sweet sort of way, I guess. She smiled at me, and the corners of her mouth crinkled into a series of deep-set wrinkles. I asked her why she was traipsing along the beach on her own, and she told me that she was getting some fresh air. I told her it was dangerous. She laughed and said that if any gangly kid could take care of himself alone on the beach, then she could, too.

Everything was fine until she called me a "kind young gentleman." That was when my world shattered.

It shouldn't have pleased me so much, right? I shouldn't have felt such a swell in my guts when she said that, right? I was suddenly afraid by the light that seemed to radiate from her weak frame, from the yellowing teeth of her beatific smile. Suddenly, I had to get out of there. I made up some excuse about needing to leave (I think it went something like "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!") and high-tailed on out of there, kicking up sand in my wake.

When I was sure there was no one else around, I successfully destroyed my brand new, month-old wetsuit by phasing into a wolf and bolted into the woods where I howled and whined and pawed uselessly at the dirt for a good half hour before I was finally approached by a large chocolate brown wolf—Quil.

_Seth, what's the deal?_

_Old lady…ooooooold lady…_

I recalled the events of the morning, passing them along to Quil's mind and whimpering from where I lay with my chin on the ground.

There was a long silence, and then—

_Are you __laughing__ at me, Quil?_

Sure enough, he was rocking on his hind paws, a strangled wheeze rising up from between his wolf-lips. _Seth, seriously_, he said, his mind-voice fraught with amusement, _you feel concern for an elderly woman and you think that you've __imprinted__? Get a grip!_

_But—but—but she called me a "nice young gentleman" and I nearly went into raptures!_

_It's called being a good Samaritan, idiot. Sometimes doing nice things makes you feel all fuzzy inside._

I whined, long and mournful.

And then Quil showed me his memories of imprinting on Claire. I felt it: the feeling of being drawn in by a thousand beams of light, all stemming from the same dark-haired toddler. I felt the way the world's gravity seemed to change and up was down and the magnetic center of the universe was right there in the beat of her heart, pulling everything else towards it, and the universe was so large and scrambled that it actually seemed to make sense and I didn't know the difference between her life and mine and—

_Quil! Oh my God, stop! I'm about to have nightmares!_

He batted his paw into the ground, another laugh-wheeze escaping him. _Still think you imprinted on that old lady?_

_No._

_Then stop moping and get over yourself. No more false alarms, okay?_

That wasn't the first time I'd freaked out like that, nor was it the last.

And the only reason I bring all of this up is because we received an invitation to Sam and Emily's wedding today. I haven't seen Leah since she first glimpsed the silver-embossed envelope in Mom's hands when she brought in the mail, and I'm kind of worried, but I'm just some stupid boy and I don't know what to do about it.

I'm just really freaked out about imprinting. I'm freaked out about love. I'm freaked out about a lot of things and I don't really know what to do about it. I can hear Leah crying through my bedroom wall now, and I know she's over Sam, but it's not like that kind of pain ever really goes away. And what if I end up falling in love only to imprint on someone else and hurt her like Sam hurt Leah? Or what if I imprint and I realize that I'm just not cut out for that level of love and devotion? What if she dies like Dad and I'm left all alone and the void can't be filled the way Charlie fills Mom's void? And what if I never imprint at all and I'm left all alone while Quil has Claire and Jake has Nessie and Sam has Emily and Paul has Rachel and Jared has Kim?

How can I even be afraid of all of these things if I'm not even sure what I want? My fears cancel each other out, and yet that only seems to make them more intense.

Life was a lot easier when I didn't possess the ability to burst into a big ugly ball of fur.

* * *

**May 10, 2007**

Someone just kill me now. I received my summer school schedule in the mail today.

Apparently Forks High likes to split their summer sessions into two three-week "semesters."

SEMESTER 1**  
Mondays: **10:00-11:30 – Remedial Chemistry, 12:00-1:30 – Remedial English II**  
Wednesdays: **10:00-11:30 – Stress Management

SEMESTER 2**  
Mondays: **10:00-11:30 – Remedial History**  
Wednesdays: **10:00-11:30 – Remedial Geometry

And I hear you ask, _What's so bad about that, Seth?_

Well, I'll tell you. Even if it's only two days a week, I'm basically redoing my entire tenth grade schedule. Moron style. My mom added Stress Management because she claimed that it would clear up my eleventh grade schedule in the fall by getting rid of the P.E. requirement, but I just think she wanted to get me out of the house for another morning so she could have more time to make out with Charlie or something.

My point is, summer is supposed to be a lazy time. Summer is when lots of hot girls are dragged on vacation by their families to experience the "quaint and historic" attractions dinky little La Push has to offer. We Native Americans are just so cute.

But I'm going to spend my mornings sitting around a classroom, dying.

Someone from Forks High called yesterday and asked me politely if I didn't just want to retake my sophomore year at QTS, and I responded with a resounding **"****Hell no!****"**

I passed all of those classes. With D's. And a C in History.

But whatever. This is to improve my grades. To what end, I don't know.

Mom says she doesn't want me falling behind again because I can't remember anything. I tried to tell her a hundred times that my just-barely-passing grades were due to the fact that I was experiencing some highly abnormal transformations in my life and that I was tired from always having to patrol. It had nothing to do with me being stupid.

But it's not like I can go and change this now. I'm enrolled into summer suckage for six long, grueling weeks.

* * *

**May 11, 2007**

Word of the Day: awkward.

Someone knocked on the door this morning, and I was expecting it to be Charlie, so I opened the door without thinking, and suddenly I was staring up into the face of Sam Uley.

"Is Leah home?" he asked.

I should have said no, but the thing is, it's really hard to lie when you're wearing a pair of pajama pants with cheerful frogs on them and holding a bowl of Cheerios while milk dribbles down your chin. When you look that ridiculous, you're already so fucking transparent that lying only makes you into a bigger asshole.

"Uh…"

"Don't bother lying, Seth. You're wearing a pair of pajama pants with cheerful frogs on them and holding a bowl of Cheerios while milk dribbles down your chin. When you look that ridiculous, you're already so fucking transparent that lying only makes you into a bigger asshole."

I swallowed. "Uh…lemme go get her."

I didn't tell her who was at the door, and as soon as she left her room I practically dove out of my bedroom window and into the garden below so that I wouldn't have to suffer her wrath.

I didn't sneak back into the house until eleven at night after spending the entire day at Quil's. I was originally headed for Embry's, but I forgot that he and his family were off at the Makah Rez for a few days visiting friends and relatives of his mother's. So I cowered at Quil's house for the day and was so afraid to go home that I even stayed around while when Claire came over and the two of them got sickeningly cute. I even let Claire conduct a marriage ceremony between me and Skipper, that weird flat-footed Barbie.

When I got back home, I hid out in my bedroom.

I haven't seen Leah. I don't know what she and Sam talked about, I don't know if everything is okay or worse or somewhere in between. I'm too much of a coward to find out.

Before she headed off to bed, Mom came in to check on me. "Where've you been all day?" she asked me. Inquisitive, but not angry.

"Getting married to a Barbie. Um, what did Sam and Leah talk about?"

"Well Seth, that's your sister's business. But she's going to be a bridesmaid at his and Emily's wedding."

"Isn't that a little bit masochistic?"

"Like I said, Seth, that's your sister's business. Talk to her about it if you're unsure."

Yeah, man-journal, I'm a coward.

* * *

**May 16, 2007**

Embry came back today bearing great tidings!

He met a girl at the Makah Rez, and apparently they hit it off pretty well. Her name's Caroline, and he's planning on making the hour and forty-five minute drive up north to visit her again this weekend.

"You didn't imprint, did you?" Jared asked from his perch on the arm of a great big rocking chair at Emily's where all of us were gathered for our usual random chillage. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm Kim's shoulders from her spot on the seat of the chair. The two of them rocked back and forth, comfortable, content, happy.

"No," Embry said simply with a shake of his head, and his shoulder-length hair flopped easily. "But she seems really laidback and easygoing—"

"Laidback? Easygoing?" Paul intoned with a wiggle of his eyebrows, putting emphasis on all the wrong parts of the Embry's adjectives. "Is there something you're not telling us about? Are you _getting some_?"

Embry rolled his eyes while the room broke out into deep-voiced laughter, highlighted only by the lighter, softer giggles coming from Emily, who was cleaning up in the kitchen. I clambered up from my seat on the floor and joined her, stepping lightly over the other bodies sprawled across the cramped living room despite the awkward length of my legs.

"You guys are serious pigs," Embry said, though he was smiling slightly. "Nah, she's just a really cool girl. I like her, and I'm pretty sure she likes me too. I don't know what's going to happen with us living on two different reservations, but I guess I'll never know until I find out, will I?"

Emily and I slipped into an easy routine, and Sam joined effortlessly. Emily washed, Sam rinsed, and I dried and stacked. It could have been just me, but it seemed as though the two of them were radiating more than usual.

"But dude, what happens if you imprint on someone else while you're seeing her? Won't things get really weird?" Paul asked. I felt myself freeze a little in my rhythm and unconsciously looked across the room, even though I knew my sister wasn't there.

I was waiting for some kind of horrified response from Embry, for some sort of acknowledgement to what happened between Sam and Leah when Emily came along. I was beginning to suddenly feel awkward standing by them as they casually washed dishes and listened at the same time.

But Embry didn't appear to be fazed. "Then that's a risk I'm willing to take," he replied with a shrug, and I felt a small, confused cease form between my eyebrows.

And that was when the door opened and I heard Leah's voice from behind me, saying, "Hi everyone, sorry I'm late." I turned and saw her standing there in the doorway, hesitant for half a second, and then she stepped in, head held high as usual, casting a blazing smile across the room, even going so far as to extend it to both Sam and Emily.

I almost dropped the plate I was holding.

I have no fucking clue what she and Sam talked about the other day, but something is very, very different now. Leah had started to heal over the whole ordeal last year when she broke away from Sam's pack, but I'd never see her be this friendly towards either him or Emily. I'd never seen her be this bright or happy in their glowing presence. And to be honest, it kind of freaked me out.

"What're we talking about?" she asked, noticing the tense silence that pulsed throughout Emily's home. She squished herself on the couch between Embry and Brady.

"Uh, Ems met a girl."

Leah looked over, eyebrows raised. "Huh," she said, looking interested. "Meet her up at Neah Bay?"

"Yeah, I did. Niece of one of my mom's old friends. Her name's Caroline…" And the conversation started up again, just like that. The tension ebbed from the room, and suddenly Sam was proffering a dripping plate in front of me, reminding me of my duties.

"Sam," I said, keeping my voice low, "what exactly did you say to her the other day?"

He just shrugged and took another plate from Emily, who snuck a kiss on the underside of his square jaw. "I let her go, Seth. That's all."

I nodded, pretending to get it.

But even now, hours later, I still don't fully understand. Let her go? I think my mental capacities concerning love are bordering on retarded, because his response doesn't make any sense to me at all. Leah's bright, genuine smiles don't make any sense to me at all. Bella's easy acceptance of her father's happiness doesn't make any sense to me at all. Mom's leap into Charlie's life doesn't make any sense to me at all.

All I know is that if the day comes that I ever imprint, I'm in some seriously deep shit, because that girl is going to be the world's most unlucky girl. Imagine having Seth Clearwater, Romantic Retard, as your soul mate.

Serious. Suckage.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you all for the lovely reviews so far. You make me smile. :)

* * *


	4. You Whine Too Much, Kid

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Four_

**May 18, 2007**

I've been told before that I whine too much.

Actually, I'm only bringing this up right now because there's this stinging welt on the back of my head, courtesy of Old Quil's fancy walking stick. I ran into him earlier today when he was just sitting all innocuously on his front porch and I was passing by on my way to pick up some milk from the store. Well, one thing led to another, and I think I might have started spilling my guts out to Old Quil, talking about how I shouldn't even have had to be getting milk, it should have been Charlie, since it's thanks to him that Mom's cooking so much now, and fancy recipies like the ones she uses require a lot of milk, and although the throb coming from my cranial area is impairing my memory somewhat, I believe I also starting griping about the way I always catch them making out like a pair of entangled octopi and how I was finding the whole ordeal to be rather scarring, and then Old Quil was all, "I'll give you scarring!" and he hit me upside the head with his stupid stick.

"You whine too much, kid," he said.

"What's that?" I said. "I can't hear you over the tectonic plates shifting in my _skull_."

"No one likes a whiner. You know what happened last time I caught my grandson moaning about something?"

"You hit him with your walking stick?"

This time I was ready though, and I managed to duck. I heard the wind whistling over my head as the old man's stick sliced the air right above my hair.

"No one likes a smartass, either!"

All this said, Old Quil is still basically the coolest person I know, mind-reading Cullen included. I mean, he calls everyone out on their shit. _Everyone_. Even Sam. And _nobody_ calls Sam out on his shit. Except Old Quil.

He reminds me of that monkey from the Lion King. The one with the blue butt. Like, he also seems like he's totally old and frail and off his rocker half the time, but when he's not making up weird songs about bananas and feet ointments and shit, he's totally kicking ass in every aspect of the word. I mean, the guy sits on his porch all day. He SEES things. And then he uses it against you. So not only has he got all that old man wisdom on his side, but he's also got the power of observation. And, uh, I don't know ANYONE else in this day and age that can claim the same thing, since everyone's got about a three second memory span. Myself included.

He's also got that "swinging a stick around like a maniac" thing going for him too, like that monkey.

But I guess what I'm trying to say is that when Old Quil tells you something, he means it. And when he backs up his statements with a whack on the head, he _really_ means it. And thus, I am now spiraling into a pit of self-awareness and despair, and I have come to the conclusion that, like always, Old Quil is right. I do whine too much.

But at least I know that I haven't totally lost myself to moral enlightenment, because, as any typical teenager, my response is firm and defiant and totally in-your-face flippant:

You think I give a shit?

Except I definitely didn't say that to Old Quil because, um, do I _look_ stupid?

* * *

**Later**

Don't answer that question.

* * *

**May 19, 2007**

I never realized this, but apparently weddings are big deals.

Well, I mean, I knew that they were important and stuff, but I didn't know that when Sam and Emily announced the date for their wedding that all of La Push would be thrown into a tizzy of planning, planning, and more planning.

This just goes to show the difference between guys and girls. When I looked at the fancy little invitation they sent us, I saw that the wedding was going to be on August 12, and I was like, "Oh, well, that's a while away. Whatever." But take a small stroll around the village, and all you'll hear are the gossipy old ladies going, "August TWELFTH?! Of THIS YEAR?" And then there's this following freak out about how nothing is going to be ready in time, how they can't possibly expect to get good catering at such short notice and OH MY GOD, BLAH BLAH BLAHHHHH.

See, the only other wedding I've been to is Bella and Edward's, and they kind of whipped theirs together like, overnight. So I just assumed that planning weddings was the same as planning a birthday party or something. You get the guest list, you get the decorations, you get the outfits, bada bing, bada boom, just add water, instant wedding!

Apparently not.

Sometimes people come over looking for Sam (um, yeah, what would he be doing _here_?), since I guess he's got this habit of disappearing whenever Emily's got people over their house for planning. According to an unnamed source, he hides out at Jared's a lot and spends most of his time in the fetal position, muttering about napkin colors and rice and bedazzled jackets. Then again, my unnamed source actually happens to be Kim Maverick, and it's possible she's just upset that Sam's cutting into her time with her boyfriend, so I don't know about the whole fetal position thing. The manic muttering I believe.

Meanwhile, Leah's still weirdly passive about this whole thing, and I'm still really confused by her reaction. I mean, she's not exactly _happy_ about the whole thing, but she's being unexpectedly cooperative, always popping over Emily's for dress fittings and stuff. It's weird.

As cousin to the bride, Sam invited me to be part of the bridal party, and I'm so far out of the loop that I immediately told him that if he thought I was going to be a bridesmaid he could fuck with someone more gullible, to which he responded, "Seth, almost-cousin of mine, honestly, being part of the bridal party means the groom and the groomsmen too, not just the women."

Well, I recovered from my bout of stupidity easily enough, but told him, "So long as I'm paired with a hot girl and not my sister, then sure, I'll be a groomsman or part of the bridal party or whatever."

"Glad you're honored to have such an important role on my special day," he said sourly, and gave me such a powerful clap on the back that I literally bucked forward a few steps. How many years of being a shape-shifting wolf man and he still doesn't know his own strength?

I warned, "Hot girl, Sam."

"Do you know Em's friend Theresa?"

Before she moved to the Rez full-time to live with Sam, Emily had lived in Seattle with my aunt and uncle who preferred the big city atmosphere. It was a personal choice of theirs, whatever, I don't actually give a crap, but I've never actually met a lot of Emily's friends from the city because she usually visits them there instead of vice versa.

"No. Is she hot?"

Sam started backing away, holding up his hands defensively. "Can't answer that. Ask Em."

I'm definitely not about to march up to Emily and be all, "Hey, is your friend hot?" because you just don't do things like that, so I'm giving Sam the benefit of the doubt on this one. I'm not really sure what sort of hell I get to look forward to, being a groomsman and all, but I heard there's limo stuff involved, and everyone knows that limos mean alcohol for all, so that's a plus.

Mom says that their lives would be so much easier if they just had a traditional Quileute wedding, but I think Emily is looking at this as her one and only chance to break out or something. She's always been a rather domestic kind of girl, content and happy in La Push despite her big city upbringing, so my guess is that this wedding is going to be her last hurrah or something.

Whatever. I don't care if Sam and Emily want to get married on mules while descending into the Grand Canyon. As long as Theresa's hot.

* * *

**May 20, 2007**

"Hey, Seth, so, change of plans," Sam said to me when I crossed paths with him on my way to Second Beach today. "Em and I have decided that we'd rather get married on mules while descending into the Grand Canyon. I'll make sure you get a really smokin' mule to hitch a ride on, though."

Okay, I'm totally kidding.

But seriously, wouldn't that be funny? Those gossipy ladies would shit bricks.

* * *

**May 23, 2007**

WHY DOES EVERYONE SCORE GIRLS EXCEPT ME?

Theresa, bridesmaid of the future, does not count, mostly because I won't be one hundred percent sure that I CAN score her (or will _want_ to) until the wedding, which isn't until August, as any idiot who passes through La Push would know. Because even if she is worth scoring, the question still remains whether or not she goes for tall guys with mops of black hair, and hands and feet that are disproportionate to the rest of his body.

I dunno. Some girls might find that sort of freakishness endearing. Maybe.

But I digress.

So, since last Wednesday, when Embry came bearing news about meeting the "laidback and easygoing" Caroline, he's gone back to visit her not once, not twice, but THREE FREAKING TIMES since then. And only a week has passed!

As of yesterday, they are officially a couple, and unless my eyes have suddenly failed me, I definitely spied a hickey or two on his neck. Then again, it's not like he went through any great lengths to hide them from the rest of us guys. Embry is like that. He's all quiet and thoughtful and pensive all the time, one of the shyest of the bunch, but that's because his actions speak about eight thousand times louder than his words. He's one of those people that prefers to show rather than tell, and uh, he's not so shy when it comes to showing.

Okay, I definitely didn't mean that the way it sounded.

He's boastful in a really quiet way, all right?

The point I'm trying to get at here is that my teenage hormones have been a-raging for quite some time now, and they're about to go on the **warpath** if I don't get some action soon.

I haven't had an actual girlfriend since my freshman year of school, and that sad truth can be owed to the fact that my life sort of turned into an action movie at that point, and the heroes in all the action movies never get to score girls until the _end_. It's like payback for all of their ass kicking or something. Shoot up some bad guys, put the stopper on a Russian conspiracy or two, save the Prime Minister of Australia, and then, finally, grab some hot woman in a bikini around the waist and shove some tongue down her throat.

Except, OH YEAH, the action part is over, and I still haven't gotten my tongue-tastic happily ever after.

Collin, who is basically the pack therapist, couldn't help but notice that I was not "as happy for Embry as the occasion called for."

He and I were walking home from the Blacks' house after having one of our monthy/weekly/wheneverly dinner get-togethers. Leah was still there, being all mature and conversing with the adults, which is not something I've never hated myself enough to do, so I didn't mind the company at first. He jogged to catch up with me, scrawny little guy, and then immediately made his analysis (which I was quick to reject, the nosy little fucker).

"Just because I'm not openly sighing about it like all the women are doesn't mean that I'm not happy for Embry," I explained, purposely walking a little faster. Collin, who is probably an entire foot shorter than me, worked double time to catch up.

"But you looked visibly upset," he pressed, nimbly stepping over a few scattered branches on the dirt walkway. "You're jealous, Seth."

"Okay, that," I said, "_that_ is ridiculous. A terrible assumption to make."

I'm not really sure why I ever bother lying. I've always had this issue about not being able to keep my feelings to myself, so whenever I'm mad or ecstatic or sad or in this case, jealous, everybody and their brother knows about it. So the fact that Collin can no longer look into my mind makes absolutely no difference. All he has to do is look into my face, and he knows. God, I bet even Embry knows, which is just embarrassing, and shit, I bet next time he sees me he'll know that I'm embarrassed over being so transparently jealous and…shit. Just shit.

Collin called me out. "It's written all over your face. Let's just be honest here, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"It's all right, though. You're just sexually frustrated, and that's nothing to be embarrassed over."

I looked over at him so quickly that I practically gave myself whiplash. "WHAT?!" I roared, affronted. Several birds in nearby trees took flight, ruffling their feathers at me in irritation. I continued, "How old are you, kid?" even though I know perfectly well that he's fourteen. I also couldn't help tossing in the "kid," since that's what everyone calls me and I might have been on a bit of a power trip being the older one for once. Then I felt bad, because it must really suck being stuck at fourteen years old for basically forever, or actually thirteen, since that's how ridiculously young both he and Brady were when they first phased. Premature phasing or something. Not that being technically fifteen forever is any better.

Whatever. Chronologically, I am sixteen, and Collin is fourteen, which means that he has no right to be talking to me about my sexual frustrations or whatever he wants to call them.

"Seth, please calm down," he said, using his best therapist voice, and I should have been feeling like I wanted to punch him, but instead I sucked some fresh, evening air into my lungs and relaxed. "It's okay. I know what you're going through."

My nose pinched as I looked down at him. When I was thirteen, I hadn't even gone through **the p-word** yet, so the chances that he, at his frozen state of thirteen, had gone through it seemed slim.

"The hell you know what I'm going through." But I was still calm.

"Eternally thirteen," he acknowledged, gesturing his hands as if to encompass his entire being. "But physically? Fully mature."

And then…then I looked at Collin. Like, _really_ looked at him.

AND IT FREAKED ME THE FUCK OUT.

The kid is not…well dammit, he's not a KID! See, to me, before he first phased, he'd always been "the little one." You know? He was young, small, and therefore would always be young and small in my mind because that's how human brains work. But when I looked at him earlier today through the borrowed eyes of a stranger, I suddenly saw what I'd been blind to for over a year.

Tiny or not, he's still got the face of an older guy: strong jaw, stubble, next-to-invisible crinkles around the eyes… And that's when it hit me.

Someone's life sucks more than mine.

Whoa.

That deserves like, all caps and twenty-six exclamation points.

SOMEONE'S LIFE SUCKS MORE THAN MINE!!

Imagine it: all of La Push thinks of you as some dinky little preteen or whatever, but really, you've got the body of a twenty-year-old. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around the fuckery that is Collin's life. Brady's too, for that matter. I remember how quickly I seemed to grow when my wolfy genes caught up with me, and seriously wasn't cool. I was growing so fast that I would literally spend some days curled up in bed in pain. My bones couldn't handle it. But to think…Collin and Brady must have undergone **the dreaded p-word** in like...two days' time.

And sure, it sounds cool at first. I mean, dude, voice cracking and awkwardness shortened down to only two days! But I s'pose there's a _reason_ it's all dragged out, you know? It must have been seriously messed up. I mean, going from "Ew. Cooties" to "HOLY SHIT WHEN DID I GET HAIR DOWN THERE AND OH MY GOD ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS VAGINAS!"

Fucked. Up.

And what's worse, everyone still thinks you're just a kid. So you're always going to be a kid in everyone's eyes, girls included (hell, girls _especially_), and so you're never going to get some. Ever. For the REST OF YOUR ETERNAL LIFE.

Then again, I might be alone in that particular fate, but let's not get into that.

Oh, hell. Let's get into that.

"What you need to do," said the newly-transformed-in-my-eyes Collin, "is find a way to vent out these frustrations of yours. Everyone's imprinting or finding a special girl, and it just feels like you're surrounded by commitment and love and, hell, you're only sixteen, you don't know if you can deal with all of that."

The dirt ground crushed under the light treads of our feet as I stared at him in absolute silence. How is it that this boy-man-thing understands my own brain better than I do myself? Did he read a manual? And if so, where can I get it, pleaseandthankyou?

I finally asked, "And what do you propose, O wise one?"

"I propose," he breathed, "that you find some hot bitches and get your freak on."

Man-journal, I wish I was kidding.

But those are the words that honest to God came out of Collin Tulain's mouth.

And I stared. I stared, and I stared, and I stared.

"Come again?" My voice cracked.

He shrugged. "Hot bitches. Get your freak on. No commitment, no love, just plain ol' teenage sin and debauchery. It works like a charm."

"How do you know?"

He looked up at me, his black eyes positively gleaming despite the dim dusk that was settling around us. "Oh, trust me, Seth. I know."

HO. LY. FUCK.

So again, I pose the question: WHY DOES EVERYONE SCORE GIRLS EXCEPT ME?

I saw his eyes, and there was no lie in them. So even freakish part-boy part-man part-wolf things can find "hot bitches," but I, the loveable and irascible and awesome-in-every-way-possible Seth Clearwater, can't?

Life is…

I am a black hole.

I am where all good things come to die.

* * *

**A/N:** My first update from college! (Actually, I had 80 percent of this written before I moved in, but whatever. BE PROUD OF ME.)

Oh, and I totally would have put 26 exclamation points at that one part, but apparently this site doesn't allow any more than two (communists!). So yeah. That affect was ruined. Just imagine it, because there are definitely 26 of 'em on the file saved to my computer, so I promise they're there. Just...look real hard or something.

I can't thank all of you enough for reading and leaving such wonderful reviews. You make me all warm and fuzzy inside. I mean, heck, I'm still shocked that people actually seem to _enjoy _reading this plotless whine-fest. Forreal.

If I haven't responded to your review yet, take no offense. I'm getting around to it, I promise. My feedback to your feedback will be coming soon. :)


	5. A Bowl of Oatmeal

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Five_

**May 24, 2007**

A week and four days until my life officially ends and my own personal summer school hell officially begins.

"It's not that I'm trying to drown out your complaints," Emmett told me today when I was over at the Cullens' with Jake, "except that I totally am."

I was leaning over the back of the couch he was sitting on, my lanky arms draped over until my fingers could almost graze the starch white cushions. His back was to me, his monstrously large form blocking me out, and he was, as usual, watching TV. I should take this moment to point out that Emmett always appears to be watching TV. Like, I'm not sure I can honestly think of a moment when his eyes weren't glued to the tube. It's like there's always football on, no matter the time of year, and Emmett is always watching it. And paying attention too, which leads me to believe that he has three brains or something, because he possesses the ability to concentrate on the TV, surrounding conversations, and Rosalie's fluctuating horniness all at the same time.

Actually, it really isn't a pretty story how I learned about the third particular brain of his. I think I still have a faint ringing in my ears from the repercussions of that incident, although it's possible that I'm just being paranoid. But that's a tale for another time.

But seriously. I think he watches football when they're going at it, too. He and Rose, I mean. I don't have physical proof of this, nor do I plan on getting any—I'm just saying.

"You," I told him, "are a heartless individual."

He shrugged his linebacker shoulders and said simply, "Vampire."

"Okay, you know what I meant."

"AND THE AWKWARD SEA SPONGES SCORE!" he boomed suddenly, and I think I rocketed fifteen feet into the air. My head definitely made contact with the ceiling. "HIGH FIVE, SETHASAURUS REX!"

And I was so caught off guard that I was actually stupid enough to raise my hand, and the following high five nearly snapped my hand right off my wrist. I'm surprised it didn't get stuck bent backwards. Christ.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!"

"What the fuck kind of football is this, anyway?" I asked sourly, rubbing my wrist while a sharp pain pulsed down from the crown of my head. "It's _May_, for God's sake."

Emmett had turned back around by this point, but I could just picture his golden eyes rolling as he snorted air out through his nostrils. "Amateur pygmy football. Cameroon league. Get with it, Seth."

"Awkward Sea Sponges?"

"The approximate English translation."

"But that's the best they could come up with?"

"They like to be original. Don't mock. They're innocent little pygmies and you're being an ass."

"But _Awkward Sea Sponges_?"

"Their opponents are the Whistling Cow Pies."

"Okay, really? _Really._"

"I'm about to punch you in the face, kid."

"And I'm about to charge you with assault."

"Officer Swan likes me. In fact, he likes the Cameroon amateur pygmy football league."

"You're making that up."

"Am not. Ask him."

"Whatever, he likes me better. He's banging my mom."

"He won't take to pygmy discrimination lightly."

"Discrim—this is ridiculous!"

"I wholeheartedly agree!" yelled Jacob irritably as he came in through the front door, towing Nessie by the hand. Bella and Edward followed. "We can hear you two bickering from all the way outside. And for the record, Seth, someone needs to wash your mouth out with soap."

"Wash my—" I spluttered, unable to finish. Because sure, Jake _never_ swore.

"We all have good ears. We all heard the little F-bomb you dropped earlier."

"F-bomb!" Nessie cried jubilantly.

And then they all started staring at me like I was some kind of horrible corrupter of children, and I guess I did feel a little guilty, but Nessie is going to be a teenager in a few years (if anyone ever picks up this journal years from now, they're gonna think I was on crack), and it's imperative that she learn all the proper lingo, so I think I was doing her a favor, even if it's only in the long run and not in the short run. Of course, no one took me very seriously and things got so out of hand that Mr. and Mrs. Cullen came into room and Mrs. Cullen almost shoved a bar of soap in my mouth, but Edward eventually came to my rescue, though he really didn't look pleased about me using such language while his daughter was within hearing distance.

Can I just say that Edward in dad mode is a lot less cool than normal Edward?

What I should have done was mention how Emmett was always spewing out sexual innuendos, and that I never saw anyone trying to shove a bar of Dial down HIS throat, but as it usually goes with the scant good ideas of mine, I didn't think of it until I got home.

Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed after wacked out days like these, I wonder if I've actually just woken up and everything I just experienced was a shroom-induced dream. But then I remember that I don't do shrooms and that everything is wacked up only because that's how my life is by default.

* * *

**May 26, 2007**

You know what animal I dislike? Foxes.

Some people think they're all cuddly and cute and red and stuff, but they're just wolf wannabes. Like, they're more feral than your average dog (rebels like that dog from Call of the Wild don't count. That was a horrible book. I'm bored just thinking about it), but they're not made of as much awesome as wolves. They're too tiny and stuff, and when they bark it's more like a glorified meow. They're probably more closely related to sleeping kittens than to wolves.

And they smell really…lame.

I wish I had a better adjective for it, but that's about the best I can come up with. The scent of fox is like bottled LAME. And now the woods around La Push smell like a heap of lame, because apparently some dare-devils decided they would invade _our_ space. And none of us has yet to see any of them, but God, we can smell them everywhere, and it's really annoying.

But whatever. Once they realize that the wolves they've been catching whiffs of are the biggest, most kickass canines they've seen, they won't be sticking around much longer.

Actually I'm probably more annoyed that I have to take extra-long showers to completely wash the stench of lame off of me. Just the other day, I heard Mom yell, "The water bill doesn't pay itself! Hurry it up in there, Leah!" through the bathroom door. And I died of shame right there on the slick shower floor.

* * *

**May 27, 2007**

I met the infamous Caroline today.

I was just getting back from a border check with Quil when Embry's old bruised-banana yellow Pacer came wheezing down the road behind us. I find it rather miraculous that this ugly old thing that was literally constructed in the '70s can manage to make it from Embry's house to school, let alone all the way up to Neah Bay several times a week. But what's even more miraculous than that is the fact that Caroline didn't seem at all embarrassed to be seen sitting in the passenger seat.

"Hey guys!" Embry called as he stuck his head out the window and slowed the dying beast to a stop beside us.

We walked up to the car and bent our knees to get a good look inside, waving, and Caroline said, "Oh my God, do any of you ever wear shirts?"

She's just lucky that Quil and I were even wearing pants, all right? We used to just do our rounds and kind of stuck to shadows on our way from the woods to our homes, stark naked, but not only did that get awkward, but there was a time that Jake and I encountered some wandering tourists and their little girl and well… We don't do the whole naked thing anymore.

"The Quileute girls do," I volunteered cheerfully, but I made a face. "Unfortunately."

We laughed for a moment, and then Embry administered introductions. "Caro, this is Quil and Seth. Quil and Seth, this is Caroline, the girl I've told you so much about."

All I've got to say is that Embry is one lucky son of a bitch. I mean, okay, at first glance, there's nothing really all that outstanding about Caroline. Like, I'd never really understood that whole "heart-shaped face" thing before, because that's stupid; I mean, who has a face the shape of a heart? What? But when I peered across the driver's seat to get a good look at Caroline, I suddenly understood. She has these high, defined cheekbones and it all curves down into this tiny little chin. And I guess you could say that she had "warm, chocolate brown eyes" and all that poetic crap, but the thing is, when you're Native American, it's not like brown eyes are anything spectacular. BUT JESUS CHRIST HER SMILE.

After being introduced, she said, "Nice to finally meet you guys," and then her lips curved up in the most HOLY FUCKING SHIT IS THAT THE **SUN** BLAZING AT ME smile I'd ever seen. I never thought the day would come that I would need sunglasses in Washington, but Christ, I needed them today! I think I stumbled back a step and lifted my hand to shield my eyes.

I stood there like some kind of demented totem poll for the rest of the quick conversation. Quil and Embry and Caroline chatted easily, laughing lightly and nodding and all that normal stuff, and I stood around with sun spots in my eyes, going blind from the brilliance of Caroline's smile. It was getting kind of stupid.

And then Embry and Caroline started chugging off at a whopping negative eighty-four miles per hour in the Pacer, and I swear that Embry winked at me, as if he knew exactly what I was going through.

"Are you—did you just—" I spluttered incoherently at Quil.

He stared. "What?" And if we'd have been phased, I definitely would have heard the _"fish-faced freak"_ I'm certain he tacked onto the end.

"Did you not see that?" I finally spat out.

"See what?" he asked, looking around both shoulders, confused.

"Her smile!" I cried, wondering if this was finally it—the day I went mad. I always thought that people heard voices and stuff when they finally lost it, but it seemed as though I was seeing things. And they hurt my eyes in the most brilliant way.

Quil's face was contorted into this look of bafflement and mild concern. "Seth, I… I really don't know what you're talking about."

And then it hit me. Of course. Quil's imprinted on Claire. He won't ever notice a girl in _that_ way until Claire is sixteen or something. Until then, he'll just run around all blissfully unaware, oblivious to gorgeous legs and blazing smiles and perky breasts. Meanwhile, non-imprinters like me are stuck being all hormonal and stuff and then I get to thinking that maybe Collin's right and I should just find myself a gaggle of hot bitches and get my freak on and I can't believe I actually just wrote that.

"HOLY SHIT!" I yelled, and suddenly my heart was seizing up and I almost started foaming at the mouth as the worst possible thought crossed my mind.

But Quil was used to this. Apparently my yells of "holy shit" have a specific tone to them when I get all paranoid about imprinting.

"No," he said flatly.

"But—but—her smile…" I whimpered.

"You're a dude. You notice these things. Stop being a baby about it."

"You didn't notice."

"I'm different."

"Can we please phase just to make sure?"

"Seth, c'mon, really…"

"_WHAT IF I IMPRINTED ON EMBRY'S GIRLFRIEND?"_

Quil sighed very loudly after my rather animalistic outburst and stepped back into the trees to make a huge, huge deal out of having to phase back into a wolf. Seconds later I was a wolf too and he looked into my head and I was practically whimpering as I batted my paws against the ground and—

_No,_ he told me. _You just think she has a pretty smile. And I suppose that when I see it through your eyes, she really does._

_And you're sure? _I pressed.

_Yes, Seth, I'm positive._

_You're not lying?_

_I promise._

You know, I'm starting to get the idea that the guys all ganged up to have Collin the therapist talk to me, because I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they all thought I was absolutely 100 percent insane.

* * *

**May 29, 2007**

If I could create a pictorial diagram of my brain, I would just draw a bowl of oatmeal.

I spent the last twenty-four hours banging my head against my bedroom wall, because for some reason I thought that that would bring understanding to me (yeah, I really don't know where I got that one), and now I'm just more confused than ever.

Yesterday morning I was sitting around the kitchen in my pajamas, shoveling spoonfuls of Lucky Charms down my throat, and I was concentrating really hard on making sure I only got the marshmallows and not the weird _cereal _bits that no one ever wants.

I heard someone coming down the hallway that attached to the living room which was off the kitchen and Leah's voice floated through the house to my ears. I just assumed that she was whining about lame fox stench of perhaps leftover vampire stench from my visit to the Cullens' the other day, so I was about to open my mouth and tell her to get the fuck over it when I actually caught some of her words:

"Flowers…blahblah…begonias…blahblahblah…not in season…blahblahblah…match the tablecloths…blahblah…"

She was on the on the phone with Emily, discussing wedding crap.

And maybe if it had been later in the day and my mind wasn't still foggy with sleep, I might have been able to control myself better. But when she came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, chattering lightly into the phone, I chewed on my marshmallows and could feel all the cells in my brain sizzling and dying because I didn't know this girl, my sister, this new Leah who could speak with Emily so happily and so calmly about a wedding that should have been hers.

And so, the instant she was off the phone, I shouted, "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" which probably was not the most eloquent thing to ever come out of my mouth, but whatever.

Leah stopped mid-hair fluff and looked at me, bug-eyed.

"Seriously. You're all…perky and happy and enthusiastic. It's weirding me out."

She raised one eyebrow and the light quality was gone from her voice as she said, "Would you rather I mope and cry and piss the hell out of everybody?"

"Well—no—but—"

"Then what's your problem?"

I'm not a complete heartless jerk. I couldn't just be all, "Because Sam broke your heart and it doesn't make ANY GODDAMN SENSE for you to be so gung-ho yippy skippy about their wedding, that's why!" So instead I just sat there and stared and finally mumbled, "I'm not used to this."

And then she looked at me. God, she just _looked at me_. And there was something so…so…_I don't even know_ in her eyes and I felt this chill go through me and I suddenly sensed all of her sadness, sensed all her hurt, and I had no idea if she'd just been ignoring it these past weeks or if I'd brought it all back or if I HAD NO IDEA SO I BOLTED.

I ran and ran and ran and ran and suddenly I was at Embry's house and I was pounding on his door and I was yelling at him and telling him please, please, please to stop seeing Caroline because he was only going to end up hurting her when he imprinted on someone else and there might not be anyone around to pick up the pieces and even if anyone could pick up the pieces there might be no way to put them back together and how would Caroline feel if she had to help plan Embry's wedding with someone else and what if he imprinted on her cousin and everything was awkward for years and years and even when things were finally right again they felt like they weren't and please, please, please just stop seeing Caroline because he had no idea what he was getting into, none whatsoever, it was going to be a disaster, this was the stupidest thing he could do and did he have any idea what effect this would have on Caroline's family and friends and shit shit shit, how could he even risk all of this, what was he thinking, what if she never smiled her blazing smile again, did he want to end up looking into her guilty eyes for the rest of his life, how could he allow himself such freedom and

GAHHHHHH.

* * *

**Later**

"Seth," Embry said. _"Seth."_

I lowered my hands to my sides and panted.

"I can't guarantee that I'm not going to imprint on someone else, but I also can't guarantee that I am. Caroline is a wonderful girl, I like her a lot, and she likes me. I don't know if we'll ever fall in love, I don't know if we're going to break up in three weeks, I don't know. But we have each other now, and we're happy. I am not going to stop seeing Caroline because I don't want to stop seeing her. I'm choosing to be with her and I have the right to choose. Not all of us can say that around here. Anything could happen, and maybe we'll get hurt, but maybe we won't. And I'm not going to sit around and let this opportunity pass me by just because I'm afraid of what could happen. Now I'm with Caroline, and I'm _excited_ about what could happen. And it's all because of the choices she and I made and nothing else. However this ends, in hurt or in happiness, at least I'll know it's because of the decisions I was able to make for myself. I like Caroline and I want her, so I'm going to be with her. Please, Seth. Go home."

* * *

**Still Later (3 a.m.)**

Man-journal, that was a disgusting display of pure whinery. Never again.

I still don't get it, though.

* * *

**June 1, 2007**

So Charlie came over today. And as soon as I saw him I was like, "Great. Fuck. Shit. I can't take anymore of this messed up relationship crap anymore. I'm not a _girl_, I can't digest this stuff like some people digest frigging _popcorn_." But as it turns out Mom was too busy writing up a grocery list in the kitchen, and she was digging wildly through the cupboards looking for coupons, and needless to say, that bored the pants off of Charlie.

OH GOD.

Not literally. Contrary to popular belief, the creation of grocery lists is not in the least bit kinky.

Anyway, moving on…

So instead of making out with my mom, Charlie was just chilling on the couch, watching some football, and that reminded me of something.

"Hey Charlie," I said, sounding rather friendly in spite of the finding-him-and-my-mom-making-out-on-my-gaming-couch incident. I plopped onto a cushion on the far side of the couch and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table. I stared straight ahead at the TV. "So what's this?" I asked casually. "Some amateur pygmy football, right? Cameroon league?"

And when the following silence began to grow eerie, I finally looked over at Charlie and saw that his face was contorted into the weirdest scrunched up look. And then his expression relaxed and he burst out into loud, hysterical laughter.

He didn't _stop_. I seriously thought he was going to die. Like, there was one point where his face was starting to turn purple, and I never knew that that sort of shit actually happens, but apparently it does, and I was suddenly trying to recall first aid for choking, but then I remembered that none of that would apply to death by uproarious laughter.

See, this is why I hate my life. I decide to be a nice guy and attempt some wacked up teen-to-mother's-boyfriend bonding, and this is what I get in return.

Eventually Charlie must have begun to clear his airwaves because I could hear these weird strangled noises coming from his throat and it sounded like he was trying to speak. "Em…Em…" he kept saying, and even though he was possibly dying I felt the strange urge to punch him in the face.

"Emmett owes…me…fifty bucks!" he finally barked.

"WHAT?!

"He thought…thought you'd never ask…thought you'd accept it…"

"THEN WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF FOOTBALL ARE YOU WATCHING?"

I think he said something about old college tapes from the '80s, though I'm not entirely sure because that's when Mom came out of the kitchen and dragged me to the sink to shove some soap into my mouth.

Figures. Charlie laughs so loudly he could have ripped a hole in the atmosphere to a new fucking universe and she doesn't bat an eye, but I slip up and say one dirty word and I'm grounded for a week. So now I'm stuck in my room for the last weekend before I'm forced into summer school. Fan-fucking-tastic.

* * *

**A/N: **Holy angst, Batman!

Okay, so this is the first chapter that I officially wrote 100 percent at college. I'm quite proud of myself because I've also managed to maintain a social life, get my assignments done, and stalk an Irish boy in the meantime. I feel accomplished.

Thank you so, so much to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, and put this story on their alert list. See this demented little smile that's basically tattooed on my face? Yeah, that's all you.


	6. Seth Clea rater

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter 6_

**June 2, 2007**

Day one of being grounded. Two days until I start summer school. I'm dying…dying…dying…

* * *

**Later**

So bored. Have been counting the number of broken stitches on my bedspread. Lost count after seventy-six.

* * *

**Later Again**

Apparently it's possible to make a sentence using no word other than _buffalo_:

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

That's been boggling my mind for the past hour and I'm still not sure I get it.

* * *

**Still Later**

I cleaned out my desk and found an old yo-yo that I haven't used in years. It's the wooden kind, not that lame plastic kind that you can never wind back up after you use it. Those are like dispensable yo-yos. Only good for one use and then you have to throw them out. Laaaaaame.

When I was younger, I used to think I was a yo-yo master reincarnated because I was capable of bouncing it up and down about twelve times in a row and could Walk the Dog with reasonable expertise. Of course, the only person I had to compare to was Leah, and she couldn't even get it to come back up once. It would drop from her hand, and twitch as she might, it would never boomerang back.

So I tried to reclaim some of my skill and ended up hitting myself in the face when I attempted Around the World. There's this huge red mark on my forehead and I think it's going to bruise.

* * *

**Even Later**

Wait. Okay. So there's three uses of the word _buffalo_.

The big hairy animal

The city in New York

The verb which means to bully and intimidate

So buffalo from the city of Buffalo bully other buffalo from Buffalo, but they're also bullied by buffalo…

Forget it.

* * *

**June 3, 2007**

Day two of seven. Morale is low.

I told Mom that I would eventually need to get out of the house in order to patrol and do border checks and all that, but she just smiled hugely at me and said, "Oh, don't worry, honey. I already talked to Billy about that and he relayed the message to Jacob. You're off the hook. But luckily for you I just came up with the greatest idea for a project."

And of course, by _idea_ she actually meant Idea with a capital I. Yeah. One of those.

Apparently Mom's always wanted one of those cute little signs to put above the garage that says "The Clearwaters." And it's imperative that we have our entire last name, apparently. No cop outs. No big fancy C in script lettering, no cute little address. THE WHOLE FREAKING LAST NAME.

This required, I learned, stenciling out each damn letter into a plywood block, using a jigsaw to cut out each letter, painting each letter, and finally securing them on a backdrop that had thankfully been pre-painted a few days ago.

But what's weird about all this is that I'm not the one who had to work the jigsaw. That was my mom. It was nuts, really, seeing this lady who, weeks earlier, had stood on the sidelines as I dug massive, useless holes in our backyard for a Peace Garden, wielding a frigging power tool with calm expertise. Apparently she's actually really fricking good at using power tools, from drills to high-tech space technology sanders, she's a pro.

She got strangely quiet when I asked her if she's ever used a chainsaw, though. I'm not sure I want to know that that means.

Anyway, I was stuck being her bitch, basically. I stenciled. I painted. I hot-glued, which is probably the most un-masculine thing in the world, Reese Witherspoon's infamous Bend and Snap excluded. Meanwhile, my mom did all the cool stuff. I got some blue paint ("robin's egg") speckled all over my shirt and Mom said it's not going to come off, which is kind of annoying.

**OH MY GOD THIS IS THE MOST BORING THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN.**

I don't understand it. There are times that I've spent literally _days_ in front of the TV playing Soul Caliber and shoving dry cereal down my throat during those stupid instant replays. And that sort of self-induced hermitdom never seemed to bother me. I could probably do that for weeks on end if Leah wouldn't screech about missing Project Runway or whatever the hell she watches. But now that I'm being _forced_ into being a hermit for a week, I've suddenly developed a major case of cabin fever. The air feels stale. My brain feels mushy. My limbs feel twitchy. I'm gonna need to be shipped off to a nice little room with padded walls by the end of this.

This can be proven by the fact that I severely fucked up Mom's stupid little nameplate sign thing.

"SETH!" she screeched, diving across the table just as I hot-gluing the _s_ onto the end of our last name. I kind of flipped out and nearly burnt out my eyeball with the metallic tip of the gun when I flailed in surprise. I missed, instead hitting myself with the barrel on the forehead in the same spot where I'd gotten the yo-yo in injury.

This is exactly why I wish she would have just been satisfied with a big, fancy C.

"You've fucked it up, you illiterate waste of skin!" she cried, and I may or may not be paraphrasing.

"But—but—" I spluttered.

"Look at what you've spelled!"

"Oh."

The Cleawraters.

THE (FUCKING) CLEAWRATERS.

This is exactly why I'm going to summer school. I'm one of those kids who can't even spell his own last name. Mom went on and on about how I'm never paying attention and how I make goldfish look tenacious. I told her thanks, that really gives my shriveled self-esteem a boost, and then she was all sorry sorry sorry and I was like, well, I guess you're kind of kick-butt with a jigsaw, which was off-topic but got her off my case.

OH YEAH, until I decided it would be a really flipping sweet idea to start tearing off the letters in order to fix them.

"SETH!" she screeched again and made another diving leap.

"What?!" I squealed testosterifically.

"You're ruining them!"

And honestly, I don't think I was. Like, there was some wood or whatever stuck on the backdrop from the torn-up letters, but it wasn't that huge of a deal. But my anger released the wolf-strength in me, which was severely pent up from many days of cabin fever, and to make a long story short (too late?), I ended up snapping the _w_ in half.

So yeah. We're the Clea raters now.

Seth Clea rater.

That's how I'm going to sign all my papers in goddamn summer school.

* * *

**June 4, 2007**

My classes suck major balls.

Remedial Chemistry and Remedial English.

I'd never actually set foot in Forks High before, and I don't really know what I was expecting, but I guess I kind of always assumed that it was…I dunno…one building. Like, it's made up of several different buildings which I think is weird and inconvenient and makes things even more awkward when you show up late for your first class and everyone stares when you open in the door because you bring in all the scents and sounds of the summer, which is just this huge monstrous reminder of how much no one wants to be there.

Speaking of huge and monstrous.

The desk actually groaned when I sat down in it. The chem teacher was just staring at me, so I felt compelled to take the very first open seat that I saw, which was sadly all the way in the front because everyone else had already snagged the seats in the back. So the desk groaned like some kind of demented cat when I plopped my bony ass into it, and I probably would have been the victim of fat jokes if I wasn't all gangly and awkward and weird looking.

But the fact remained that I still looked like some kind of twenty-year-old intruding on a high school remedial class and I'm not kidding when I say the teacher's eyes popped. He looked at me through the thick lenses of his glasses and shuffled his feet for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing to drone on about the syllabus or something.

It was boring as all get out. I almost nodded off to sleep and the teacher (Mr. Fritz, maybe?) was probably too freaked out to slap me with a ruler or whatever his method of student waking is.

This is precisely why I need to start hanging out with people besides my fellow Quileutes and the Cullens. Whenever I go into a public place I get stared at weirdly because I'm all big and ugly, and everybody knows that there's nothing worse than being tall and ugly. I need to start assimilating myself into the public slowly or something, sort of like Big Foot. Eventually, instead of being some kind of freak of nature phenomenon, I'll be accepted despite looking weird.

Anyway, the only interesting part of the day came in the break between chemistry and English, when everyone went out to lunch except for the couple of us who didn't have cars or didn't have friends with cars. (For the record, I do have a car. I share it with Leah, and I just happened to wake up really fricking late and realized that it would actually be easier if I just pulled a Jacob and strapped some clothes to my leg and ran to Forks high as a wolf. I was still late.)

I thought I was gonna be this total loner, since everyone seemed to give me a wide berth as I shouldered my backpack and hunkered out of the room all imposingly. But when I threw down my stuff on the ground and settled into the grass outside while the sound of engines roaring to life filled the parking lot, some kid came up and suddenly sat beside me.

"You're one of those Indians from La Push, yeah?" he said.

I looked over at him, surprised. "What? Yeah, I…holy shit, you're the first person outside my family that I've talked to in three days!"

That should have scared him away. I must have had this crazed look in my eyes that was all like, **"HUMANITY!"** and I admit that I was probably more excited than I should have been to be conversing with someone other than Mom or Leah. I verbally pounced the poor guy.

But instead of running for his life from the feral hermit kid, he was all, "Oh, that's cool," even though it totally _wasn't_.

"I'm Seth," I told him.

"Jason M.," he replied with a nod. He paused, then added, "Not to be confused with Jason A. or Jason P."

"Erm, they all in our chem class?"

"Yep."

It's funny, cuz Jason M. is basically my polar opposite as far as physicality goes. Just whip out an antonym dictionary and look up everything that describes me to get Jason.

**Me: **really freaking tall**  
Jason M**: not really freaking tall

**Me: **bony**  
Jason M**: meaty

**Me: **gangly**  
Jason M**: stocky

**Me: **dark-skinned**  
Jason M**: practically a Cullen

**Me: **black haired**  
Jason M**: blond

**Me: **jeans and (sometimes) a t-shirt**  
Jason M**: preppy shit

I'm the poor Indian and he's the privileged jock who probably got to try out all sorts of sports when he was growing up, like hockey and karate and stuff. And all that said, he's actually really kind of cool. Like, his freak sensors and _"MUST KILL NOW"_ instincts didn't go off when he saw me, so the least I could do was return the favor.

"Hey, look," he continued, "I'm having this party at my house on Friday. You should come and bring some of your friends."

I sighed loudly and plucked some grass up from the ground beneath me. "I'm grounded."

"Suckage. Sneak out. It'll be fun."

I lifted my eyebrows, surprised. "But…you don't even know me."

He shrugged. "You're a chill kind of guy. C'mon, we're gonna have beer and stuff and chicks dig tall guys, right? Especially exotic ones."

"I'm not exotic."

"To the average Forks girl, yeah you are."

And suddenly Collin's face flashed across my mind. This was the perfect opportunity to find some hot bitches. I mean, God knows that none of the girls on the Rez find me attractive, so I might as well at least see if Jason M. is right and Forks girls think I'm awesome just because I'm not white. Shallow it may be, but isn't that the point of finding hot bitches?

"Count me in, then. I might bring my friend Jake, though he's not likely to be keen on any girls schmoozing up to him."

Jason M. looked at me, sweeping a shock of blond hair away from his eyes. "He got a girlfriend?"

"Uh…something like that."

"He gay?"

"Uh, well…you know what, yeah. Yeah, Jake's gay."

I am so dead.

* * *

**June 7, 2007**

holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit

HOLY SHIT!

So okay, yesterday was Wednesday and I was coming back from my second day of summer school (Stress Management, which definitely did not work, hence my wigging out) in wolf form because I've decided it's just easier and Leah is a little bitch when she can't get the car for the day, but whatever, this is all beside the point because HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!

I finally saw one of the foxes that's stinking up the forest and…my fucking God, it's **HUGE**.

Like, fox on steroids huge.

I was racing through the woods, enjoying the freedom of a long, grueling day of summer school being over, darting around trees and feeling the wind whip through my fur like some kind of Save the Wolves Campaign commercial. I had just crossed the sort-of official boundary into La Push when I caught a whiff of those gross foxes. I had all this energy pent up from sitting in a desk all morning and decided that I was gonna have a little fun with the silly little fox by freaking this shit out of it.

Well.

My ears detected a shuffling somewhere to my left, so I slowed to a walk and padded over carefully, trying not to make too much noise. I crouched down low, ready to make a grand entrance when all of a sudden OHHHH MY GOD this huge-ass fox leapt out from behind a bush and snarled, showing all eight bajillion of its Swiss army knife teeth!!

Normal foxes are like, microwave size, right? Bigger than a cat, but smaller than a real dog. _This fox was the size of a goddamn DESK._

I didn't get too good of a look at it, since I may have high-tailed it and skittered away, but I would estimate that it was something like five feet long and three feet tall.

That is not normal.

Not at all.

I was still bigger than this thing, but still. It was the Godzilla of foxes, and judging on what I've been smelling in the woods, there's more than one.

Needless to say, instead of going home like a good little grounded boy, I made a beeline for Jake's house and didn't even bother phasing back into human form. I just stood underneath his open window and howled loudly, raking my paws against the siding urgently.

I heard a lot of banging around coming from inside. Lazy ass had just woken up.

I howled louder and he shouted rather groggily, "Seth, God, you didn't imprint!"

I continued to howl until he finally stuck his scraggly head out the window and yelled, "YOU'RE GONNA FREAK OUT THE WHOLE TOWN!"

I promptly shut up, but continued to paw the siding until Jake's head disappeared and a bowl flew out the window seconds later and hit me in the head.

He reappeared and vaulted out of the window and down the three feet to the ground. He stood with his hands on his hips, wearing only a pair of jean shorts, and glared at me. "What, Seth?" he said sternly.

I shook my head. If the douche wanted to chuck bowls at me, he was going to be the one phasing, not me.

He sighed loudly, looked around once, twice, three times, and then didn't even give me fair warning before ripping off his clothes and phasing into my Alpha.

_Augh, give me fair warning before you strip like that, Jake!_

_What's the deal, Seth?_

And so I showed him what the deal was.

I could hear all the thoughts swirling around in his head, but they were rapid and incoherent, dancing from one idea to the other, muddled. Finally, the tornado in his mind seemed to come to a standstill and he sat there, breathing in and out.

_More shape-shifters? _he asked me.

_Unless you've heard of were-foxes, _I replied, equally as unsure, absently flexing my paws.

The cell phone that was tucked into the pocket of the jeans strapped to my leg began to ring, but I ignored it.

_Did this fox openly threaten you?_ Jake asked, and a fuzzy reproduced image of the fox's bared teeth jumped from his mind to mine questioningly.

_Hard to say, _ I admitted, looking down at the dirt beneath me. _I was aiming to scare the shit out of it, so it was probably just self-defense._

_But what is it even doing in our woods?_

I could only lift my shoulder blades in response.

At that moment we heard the wheels of a car crunching down the road towards the front of the Blacks' house, so Jake and I quickly phased back into human form, pulled on our shorts, and clambered into his room, which sort of reminds me of that room of junk Ariel's got in the Little Mermaid.

Um, which I watched with Quil and Claire, for the record. Not of my own choosing.

Yeah. Anyway.

Jake and I talked for a little bit longer, tossing ideas back and forth about the steroid foxes, but in the end concluded that we didn't have nearly enough information, and that we certainly couldn't decide anything without the rest of our pack and Sam's, too.

My cell phone rang again and I realized it was my mom, wondering why I wasn't back from Forks High yet. This whole thing was kind of an emergency, but I realized that if I didn't pop back home and explain, she would hunt me down and find the most creative way to kill me, which would make dealing with the foxes a little difficult.

AND I'M STILL FUCKING GROUNDED.

Apparently maintaining standards of discipline is more important to my mother than the safety of La Push. I was seriously forced to stay in my room while everyone else went into the woods to have one of those super awesome wolf meetings.

I phased and listened to what everyone in my pack was thinking, and later when Leah came home, I grilled her.

Apparently there wasn't any fresh fox scent in the woods when they got there, but none of us is willing to believe that they're gone for good. Just because I spotted one of them doesn't mean that they're all scared now. For now, while we know so little about them, the best we can do is have double patrols. At least six wolves out at a time between both of our packs.

AND GUESS WHO'S NOT ALLOWED.

That's right.

Me.

Seth.

Because my life _sucks_.

* * *

**June 8, 2007**

Friday night.

Freaking Friday night and I'm stuck in my room, unable to do anything cool.

I can't patrol around with Leah and Embry and Jake and Quil. I can't go to Jason M.'s beer- and chick-filled party.

I can't do _anything_ except sit around and wonder what on earth is going on in the outside world while I rot away and stare at my forehead in the mirror, puzzling over how long it will take for the stupid yo-yo bruise to go away.

* * *

**Later**

AUUUGHH.

This is my last day of being grounded. This is it. All I have to do is endure this night and I'm totally free. Then I can patrol for lame-smelling (but not so lame-sized) foxes. Then I can go to parties and meet all the hot bitches I want.

* * *

**Lord help me. It's only 9 o'clock.**

So, there are buffalo that are from the city of Buffalo, right? Buffalo buffalo. And they are buffaloed by other buffalo from Buffalo. But these Buffalo buffalo that are buffaloed by Buffalo bufflo also buffalo other buffalo from Buffalo.

Hence: Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

I'm a fucking genius.

* * *

**Nearing 9:15**

My bologna has a first name name…

I hate it when stupid songs get stuck in my head.

You know what?

Fuck this. I'm sneaking out.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey there, you lovely reader, you! Sorry it took me so long to get this written and posted. Midterms are coming up, which is a very efficient way to suck away one's free time.

The little horizontal rulers I use to separate the entries are giving me a hard time. No matter what I do, one seems to be missing. They all exist when I view the document, but when I look at the live preview of my story, one's always missing. So I apologize for that.

Anyway. I hope you all liked this chapter, and I just want to thank you for reading and reviewing and favoriting and all that jazz, because you've all just been truly amazing so far and sometimes I'm not sure I deserve it. (This is because I'm a lazy ass and take forever in review responses. Still waiting for one on the last chapter? It's coming, m'dear!)

I don't make that buffalo stuff up. True facts.


	7. Mmm, Stomach Acid

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter __Seven_

**??**

pretty hot bitches running circles in my mind fuck this fuck the world fuck imprinting i'm done with it all fuck it all forget this forget forget it all forget pretty slim girls forget it forget it forget it everything is spinning everything is dancing there's a pulse in my bones the music is in my bones i can still feel it i can still see it hear it the laughter the pulse my bones everything running together girls life fuck it done fuck it no more no more no more no more forever forever more more i want it all forever just not right now no more right now but please forever please please forever

* * *

**June fuck shit damn hell owww**

* * *

**June MY BRAIN EFFING HURTS 9, 2007**

There's a reason that they're always telling us not to go out and get drunk, but they often forget that we're too stupid to listen until it's too late.

THE LIGHT! IT BURNSSS…

* * *

**June 10, 2007**

All I can say is that it's a good fucking thing that Mom spent most of Saturday in Seattle with Charlie, otherwise she would have seen me with my lips basically glued to the toilet seat for the better part of the day. It wasn't a pretty sight. I know because I could see myself in the mirror. I am one UGLY mother fucker when I'm hung-over.

But more important than aesthetics, she also would have grounded me from now until eternity, and that would have been seriously uncool.

My memories of last night are…fuzzy at best. I remember making my way over to Jason M.'s house from the directions he'd given me, although I did pop into the woods first to see if I was missing any epic fox battles.

_Seth, _Jacob said the instant he detected my presence in his mind, _what are you doing out here?_

_Rebelling?_

_Whatever. You aren't missing anything, though. The woods are quiet._

_Seriously? Cuz I've got a party to head to and—_

But I cut my thoughts off rather quickly, because it suddenly occurred to me that if I kept up my usual mind-vomit, Jacob would discover that I may have accidentally-on-purpose have told Jason M. that he was gay, because that was a whole lot easier (and a whole lot funnier) than explaining Nesseroo. But then, of course, when you're trying _not_ to think of something, it's either all you can think of, or some of the weirdest shit enters your head, sort of like that giant marshmallow thing at the end of the first Ghostbusters movie.

Which, funnily enough, is what I thought of.

_Why are you…?_

_No flipping clue! Sorry Jake, gotta gay—I mean, shit! Gotta go—_

And I kind of phased right then and there, because I'd already fucked up things badly enough and didn't want to see just how much worse I could make it. So I made my way into Forks and eventually came upon this huge-ass house where the front door was open, and although the music coming from inside was rather faint—out of a desire to not alert the cops?—the atmosphere just kind of _felt_ like a party. You know, I just got that buzz of excitement in my bones and there was that foolish feeling that _anything could happen_ and there were cars everywhere and a bunch of empty beer cans littered on the porch. Actually, now that I think about it, those last ones were probably the only giveaways and I'm just bullshitting the rest of this in the attempt to delude myself into thinking my life is actually kind of awesome (which it isn't).

Anyway.

I moseyed my way on in, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous as I passed the threshold into a home where the dirt-stained doormat probably cost more than my entire house. It was dark inside, but I could feel that there were people everywhere, and I swear Jason M. must have invited half of the teens in Seattle, too, because I'm fairly certain that the entire population of Forks could have fit in the living room alone. In some rooms I could see lamps glowing dimly, but they only managed to highlight the vague movements of bodies.

"Hey there, you're taaaaaaall," someone suddenly said, and the next thing I knew there was a girl pressed against my side and looking up into my face. I backed up a step, squinted down at her, and saw that she was clutching two red plastic cups in her hand. "And you're **hot**," she added, which probably had more to do with my freakish wolf temperature than my looks because, uh, it was dark and she was drunk.

"One of those for me?" I asked.

"Depends." She giggled. "Yawanna be my boyfriend?"

"Erm. D'you know where Jason M. is?" I was hoping he could introduce me to some people.

"Depends. Yawanna be my boyfriend?"

I slid one of the cups from her hands and lifted it to my lips. Urrgh. Nothing like warm beer. "Sure, okay," I said once I'd swallowed, making a small face.

And then she looped her arm around my waist and pressed her head into my shoulder as she led us through a throng of bodies, and all I could think about was how much pent up horniness was festering inside me, and honestly, I couldn't say where we went after that because, uh, that's when things start getting a little fuzzy. I would say that I remember ending up in the kitchen somewhere, but I could very well have ended up in the laundry room or even the fucking garage for all I know.

I remember beer. Cans and cups of cold beer, good beer. Not the really cheap shit that usually ends up at underage parties. And I remember, uh, well, I remember music. And…laughter? And kissing. I think. (I might have made that part up.)

I remember puking into a bush, too. That one I remember. And…getting kicked in the shin? I have a bruise there, so I think that actually happened. Apparently I'm horny when I'm drunk. Of course, this is only what Quil tells me, and Quil has been known to bullshit from time to time, so who really knows?

Anyway, the point is, my night either sucked or rocked, and I don't even know which. I guess I tried to write in you when I got back, man-journal, but, uh, that was some seriously weird shit. Note to self: don't leave pencils lying around when there's the off chance I may come across said writing utensils when seriously intoxicated.

But that's it. Oh, and the whole hangover-puking-all-day thing. I remember that bit, too.

Yeah, that was really worth sneaking out for.

Not that I'm about to do some commercial where I stand in front of the camera all gravely going, "Kids, don't drink until you're twenty one. And even then, drink responsibly." Because, uh, I'm a teenager and I'm supposed to do stupid things, right? It's like a rite of passage.

Someday, I'll look back on this and laugh. Just not right now, because my throat still feels raw and has that dee-_lish_ vomit aftertaste. Mmm, stomach acid.

* * *

**Later**

Oh, all right, all right, all right.

I guess I can also say that it's a really good fucking thing that Leah is a kinda-sorta-sometimes-when-she-wants-to-be cool sister.

She looked after me while I was sick, and she claims to have helped me in through her window when she heard me stumbling drunkenly through the bushes at three in the morning. She also didn't tell Mom, but I'm not sure I count that as a good deed mainly because I'm sure she's gonna whip that one out on me sometime in the future. "Hey Seth, remember that time I was really fucking awesome to you? Well, I could really use a favor right now…" And then she'll ask me to beat the shit out of someone or lend her a bajillion dollars for drugs or buy some tampons or

I'm a terrible brother.

* * *

**June 11, 2007**

I could barely keep my eyes open during my classes today. I was finally allowed to patrol last night. There was fresh fox scent along the northern border, but I didn't end up following it. Quil and Embry and Sam and Jared took that task, and Brady and I were left to keep a useless eye on the woods surrounding La Push. I haven't had a chance to talk to any of the guys since last night, but I figure someone would have told me if something major happened. Or maybe not, since I slept for the rest of the night and then literally rolled out of bed four minutes before Remedial Chem.

But I'm back now and haven't heard anything, so perhaps all's quiet on the western front. Or the northern front. Or whatever.

"You look like shit," some random chick told me in English today. She was sitting one desk over and one desk back. I took this as her invitation to be partners for the quick poem analysis we were supposed to be doing.

"Y'think so? Thanks. Although honestly, I was really aiming to just look like crap today, so perhaps I took it a little too far?" I scraped my desk agonizingly against the tile floor as I turned it to face hers. Apparently OCD, she schootched hers until the fronts of our desks were lined up perfectly. A little obviously, I craned my neck to look for Jason M., but he was already sitting with another one of the Jasons. Jason P., maybe?

"Sorry," the girl said, and when I looked back at her, a small flush was spreading across her cheeks. She was pretty, I guess, in an average sort of way. Her hair was that diluted red color, strawberry blond or whatever, straight and unbrushed, and she had a real round face. Her eyes were light green and lidded with sleep. She was also still dressed in her pajama pants and a tank top. Under better circumstances, I might have wanted to tap that.

Christ. Why do I think these things sometimes?

"It's just," she continued, leaning back and throwing one of her pale, freckled arms behind her chair, "you've got these bags under your eyes and you were shuffling your feet when you walked in. I hate it when people don't pick up their feet."

I coughed and opened my textbook to the appropriate page. "Uh, great. So, this William Cullen Bryant dude is definitely talking about dying here in the beginning—"

"Okay, look, here's the thing," the girl interrupted, suddenly launching forward and leaning across her desk, hands splayed flat against the cover of her unopened book. "You and I…we aren't. _You and I_, I mean."

I stared. Because that made total sense.

I sucked in a breath slowly. "Riiiiight. Now look, what I wanna know is why he's referring to these ancient seers here as whorey. First off, isn't that kind of rude, and second off, isn't that kind of slangy? Unless I'm just totally stupid or something and—"

"You are not my boyfriend!" she suddenly shrilled in a tight whisper, and I snapped my eyes back up at her, startled and a little horrified.

"_What?"_

"Look, don't start on me, you can't honestly have thought—"

I waved my hands frantically. "No, no, I meant _what_ as in 'What the hell are you talking about?' Not 'What? I can't believe you're breaking up with me' or whatever."

"My boyfriend," she repeated, ducking her head and tossing me one of those through-the-bangs glares. Those scare the bejeezus out of me.

And that's when it hit me.

_Depends. Yawanna be my boyfriend?_

I choked on my own saliva and ended up hacking all over William Cullen Bryant's poem. It figures that the girl from the party would be in my class. My first response was to immediately die, but then I realized that she was probably a lot more embarrassed than me. After all, she was the one who was drunk at the time.

Although, I had been sober and didn't even recognize her—at the party or in class. Maybe that's why she was so outwardly bitchy towards me. I don't know.

"Look, we're not…" I started, unsure how to continue. "I mean, I never really thought we were…"

"So you were drunk, too?" she said, sighing out a breath of relief. Her whole body sagged visibly.

"Uh, well, no—"

Her eyes widened. "So you were just taking advantage of a drunk girl?"

"What, no!" I spluttered so loudly that the teacher hushed me from across the room.

A wide, impish grin suddenly split across the girl's face, revealing a set of fire-engine red braces. Laughing, she sat back in her seat and held out her hand. "I'm Pruduence, but for fuck's sake, call me Pru."

"Sure thing." I gripped her hand. "I'm Seth."

"Nice to meet you, Seth. Again."

"Yeah."

And then we delved into the poem. We each read it over a few times in silence, our fingers tracing the lines and our eyebrows furrowed heavily as we tried to concentrate and fought the urge to use our books as pillows. But Pru broke the silence when she looked up suddenly and asked plainly, "We didn't have sex, did we?"

I could only shrug.

And we laughed. Nervously.

* * *

**June 14, 2007**

Fuck Stress Management.

I mean, seriously. Fuck it.

I DON'T FEEL UNSTRESSED.

I haven't had a chance to write for the last few days because we've all been too busy dealing with this fox nonsense. Which isn't actually nonsense at all. But I'm getting to that.

See, Monday night, after spilling out all of my oh-so-sensitive thoughts on to paper, I immediately conked out on my bed. And I use the phrase "conked out" because there was drooling involved. There's a huge difference between drifting off to sleep and nodding off and conking out. The last is the most embarrassing of them all, especially when you get caught. And I've had this conking out issue lately, where I've just been feeling exhausted and dropping off all of a sudden. Jake and Leah are now teasing me about narcolepsy. It's all this damn summer school, though. My brain's not used to functioning in the summer like this. All…usefully.

Anyway, on Monday I'd fallen asleep and missed dinner, so it was already half past eight by the time a pounding on my door jostled me into a state of hazy half-awareness.

"Seth? Are you in here, the pack needs—oh, were you slee…were you _drooling_?"

I wrestled with my untidy sheets as I struggled to sit up. "Erm…no?"

What I should have done was pointedly ask Leah if she'd ever heard of knocking, since she always did that to me when I barged in on her making out with old pictures of S

Shit. Strike me down, Lord, I'm going to hell.

But really. She should have knocked.

"Look, well, the pack needs to have a meeting. We discovered where the foxes are coming from."

"Wait, really? Where?" This shook me out of my stupor.

"Just c'mon." And then she was gone.

I was expecting us to have some sort of wolfy meeting out in the woods, but I heard the crunch of Leah's human footsteps outside just as I began tossing my clothes about the room in preparation for phasing…which is actually a really awkward statement now that I see it in writing. Yeah, I often strip naked before heading out in public.

Aaaanyway.

I was confused, but I breezed past Mom downstairs ("Don't you want some pork chops, Sethy?") and leapt out the front door to jog after Leah. She was headed in the direction of Emily's house, which meant that we were all meeting in human form. And although that's more convenient or whatever, I couldn't help but be a little annoyed. Meeting unphased meant that there wasn't going to be any immediate action. So how important could any of this information be if it didn't require some kind of emergency assault? I yawned and slowed my pace. No sense hurrying for nothing.

WELL. When I arrived, everyone else was already there. Raised voices filled the air, bouncing from one side of the room to the other, and I couldn't make sense of a thing anyone was saying. And this was when I realized that I was the last one to figure out what was going on. Thanks to dumb summer school and my narcolepsy/lethargy, I'd apparently missed out on some Big News.

I ambled into the house, both annoyed and frustrated, and demanded that someone tell me what was going on, but of course, my voice just got lost in the fray. It looked like almost everyone from both packs was there. I saw Leah slide into a spot along the wall by Brady, whose hair she ruffled. Everyone was standing, either yelling or looking angry or looking confused or looking just plain annoyed.

Everyone, that is, except Embry.

He was sitting alone on the couch in the midst of it all, his face buried in his hands and his legs curled beneath him.

I'm not really sure what I was thinking at this point, but I made my way on over to the couch and sat down on one of the arms, looking over at Embry. He felt the small shift and looked up at me. His face was long, drawn, tired.

"We can't fight them." And although he whispered the words, I heard them perfectly.

I could only stare back at him. "Who—" I began, but was interrupted by a sharp, piercing whistle.

Instinctively, everyone shut up and suddenly turned to look at Sam, who was standing in the middle of his fiancé's home, a look of stoic fury upon his face. He lowered his fingers from his mouth and cast his gaze across the room, making eye contact with each and every person. He lingered on Embry, but I didn't dare look away from Sam to turn and catch Embry's return gaze.

"Now, we are going to stop shouting and we are going to discuss this rationally. This conflict is no different from anything we've faced before. We are not about to lose our heads over this."

There was a long, still silence until someone suddenly shifted against the wall.

"But this is different, Sam. We've never had to fight our own people." It was Jacob, of course. No one else was ever brave enough to speak up against Sam. Except my sister. But even she was silent now.

Sam shook his head, and his dark hair, braided down his back, shook from side to side. "The Makahs are not our people, Jacob."

_The Makahs_. Of course. Understanding dawning upon me, I turned to look at Embry, but he was watching Sam and Jacob intently.

"But they're shape-shifters," Jacob countered, shaking his head. He pulled up from the wall and crossed the room to stand in front of Sam. The matched each other, height for height. "Wolves or foxes, it doesn't matter. We're kindred spirits, aren't we? It would be stupid to fight them. Pointless."

"They don't see it that way. They see us as two separate tribes and two separate entities. Shape-shifters or not, we are _different. _And in their eyes, that makes us prey. But they have agreed to a summit Saturday night by the light of the moon. We will meet them and attempt a compromise."

All I can say is that I _knew _those foxes were made of lame. Turns out they've been spying on us for over a week, and only when we finally tracked them to Neah Bay and returned the favor did we realize that they, too, were shape-shifters. The arguing picked back up after awhile, but from what I was able to gather, their presence in our woods is generally interpreted as a threat, especially because we have continued to smell their presence even after I glimpsed one of them. Instead of leaving well enough alone, they stuck around. And now it seems like we've got a major conflict on our hands. Sam apparently tried to talk to their leader, but he couldn't get any clear answers from any of the tribe members. All he got was a note on his doorstep the next morning about the summit. Or, if you believe Jared and Paul, the "fiendish ambush." No one really knows.

Embry's always been a rather quiet guy, but he was even more so tonight. I didn't hear him say a single word except for his whispered declaration to me at the beginning. _We can't fight them._

All I can say is that I don't envy him one bit. It's like a modern day Romeo and Juliet, except instead of the Capulets and Montagues, you've got the freaky wolf Quileutes and the freaky fox Makahs. Not to mention, he has no idea whether or not Caroline was just using him to spy or whatever for her people.

Well, okay. He doesn't seem to believe it. At least, that's what I gathered from the only four words I heard him utter. He doesn't even seem to question it.

But that's what I, the eternal pessimist, am here for. I'll have the negative thoughts for anyone who refuses to have them themselves.

* * *

**June 15, 2007**

All right, so I was a little distracted today. Sue me.

I was hanging out with the Jasons and Pru in Forks today, and I was kind of a fidgety wreck the entire time. But with the summit/fiendish ambush being barely over twenty-four hours away, I think I can be excused for not being able to control any of my muscles.

"Seth, what're you—I thought you said you knew how to play Soul Calibur!"

"I do!" I cried indignantly, tossing down the Xbox controller and watching it bounce off the cat-puke gray carpet of Jason A.'s bedroom. I had just lost rather grievously to Jason M. while Pru yelled into my ear from her perch on Jason A.'s bed and Jason A. and Jason P. laughed their asses off next to Jason M.

"Okay, no, that's not called _playing_, that's called button mashing, faggot."

"Um, that's offensive. And I don't usually button mash. I'm just kinda…"

"Twitchy today?" Pru offered.

I leaned my head all the way back so that I was looking at her braces-lined smile upside-down. "I was actually gonna say incompetent, but yeah, okay, twitchy works, too."

A little while later, after everyone else deemed me unfit to play, Pru's cell phone rang and she stepped out into the hall to answer it. While she was gone, Jason P. leered at me and the other two gave me weird side leers while they continued to beat the shit out of each other with Cervantes and some weird made-up player that looked like some kind of fucked up ninja version of Iron Man.

"What?" I asked blankly, not able to stand the leering anymore.

"Are you and Pru fucking or something?"

I looked at the three of them, my eyes wide as dinner plates. "Okay, seriously? She and I met like, not even a week ago. We're friends, and we're certainly not fucking. Or at least, if we did before, we're not anymore."

And that, of course, came out totally wrong, but I didn't feel like explaining. So then the silence started to get long and eerie, and when silences get that long and eerie, dudes are prone to say stupid-ass things.

"So…are you gonna _start_ fucking her? Possibly again?"

And that, of course, is the exact moment that Pru chose to walk back into the room, and since she was kind of staring at us all with that "what the fuck" look, I said a little too loudly, "Yeah, Jason M., I'm gonna start fucking your sister. Again."

And I don't even know if he has a sister or not, but he dropped his controller and launched across the room at me, and I sort of understood poor Cervantes's pain as he and I simultaneously got the shit beaten out of ourselves.

* * *

**A/N: **For the record, I don't condone the usage of the "F" word. And you know which one I mean (because seriously, I condone the usage of _fuck. _Kind of a lot). That's rude and classless. I just use it occasionally in stories because that's how people talk.

Anyway, after that little PSA, I'd just like to say that the response to this story has exceeded my wildest expectations already. You have all just been absolutely incredible so far, and it's made writing this so much fun. So thank you, thank you, thank you. (Did you notice that I whipped out all my review responses in a timely fashion this time around? I think that could become a habit!)

The horizontal dividers still hate me. I have given up the fight.


	8. And She Was Kind of Naked

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Eight_

**June 17, 2007**

I can't believe this.

I seriously can't believe it.

Apparently, we Quileutes are "consorts of evil," "allies of overgrown mosquitos," and therefore "threats to all of mankind." There were other things too, but I can't quote them exactly because I wasn't fully paying attention due to the presence of a naked girl in front of me—but I'm getting ahead of myself_. _The point is, those Makahs attacked way below the belt.

This is how things went down:

First, they invited us in for snacks.

Not even kidding. Yesterday, the seven of us—me, Jake, Sam, Leah, Jared, Paul, and Collin—left for Neah Bay the instant the sun began to set, and although I didn't get a front view of us or anything, I'm pretty sure we looked really badass and deserving of epic soundtrack music. I mean, it may have just been the wind or something, but I _swear_ the leaves in the trees were shivering as we passed.

But anyway, we arrived all dramatically at the Makah Rez, which isn't all that different from our own reservation: a small town on the edge of the peninsula with tiny houses and docks and marinas dotting the coast. The night was, indeed, lit by the cloud-veiled light of the moon, and they were waiting for us.

There were nine of them all together, standing in a V, human. I don't know why, but for some reason I was expecting the Makahs to be all hardcore Native American when they greeted us, with the traditional clothing and body paint and everything, which was probably really stupid and ignorant of me, but whatever. Instead, they were just dressed casually in jeans and, in some cases, t-shirts, though their leader at the head of the V was of the shirtless variety. They stood imposingly, hands crossed over their broad chests.

"Welcome, our wolf brethren," their leader said, and I suddenly wolf-snorted, which sort of sounded like air being slowly let out of a balloon.

Their leader turned sharply to look at me and I tossed my head, biting into my tongue to stop myself from laughing.

_Seth, cut it out! _Leah snapped in our collective heads, sounding horrified.

_Is he for fucking serious? 'Our wolf brethren…'_

_SETH! _Jake and Leah reprimanded at the same time, and there may have been a hint of Quil and Embry's distant voices from their positions of defense back in La Push.

_I mean, does this guy think we're in a video game or something? Jeez._

Of course, during all of this, I missed what was going on outside of our heads, and the Makah leader was knee-deep in some welcoming (and most likely overdramatic) spiel. The douche.

"…would be honored if you would join us in my home for some civilized negotiations and refreshments at this time."

There was a short pause during which Sam and Jacob were probably doing some clandestine Alpha-to-Alpha communicating, and then they nodded at the same time. Apparently the nod is some super-secret Quileute wolf thing that nobody bothered to tell me, because at that moment, everyone around me suddenly phased into human form and began casually pulling their clothes on.

Like a dumbass, I just sat there for a good minute, confused, and started suddenly when the Makahs began to walk away and everyone followed.

NOBODY TOLD ME TO BRING CLOTHES.

This was, as one can imagine, a bit of a problem.

In my defense, I don't think anyone could have predicted our invitation into the leader's home. It seemed to me that a standard summit would involve meeting outside the woods and discussing things rationally and…well…okay…maybe we would have needed to be in human form for the discussion part, but, uh…

Okay, okay, color me retarded. Whatever.

I wouldn't have wanted to phase naked in front of those Makah pervs anyway, jeez.

"Seth, what are you doing?" Leah whispered as I padded through the dirt to catch up to her and everyone else. She looked down at my wolf form as she walked, her eyebrows knit in confusion.

I gave a soft whine and shrugged my protruding shoulder blades.

"You didn't…?" Putting two and two together, she sighed in exasperation. "You're an idiot. I can't believe we're related." And then she left me to go catch up to Jacob and whispered something in his ear.

After a moment, he looked back at me and rolled his eyes. _Moron, _he mouthed.

The group came to a halt. "What's going on back there?" one of the Makahs demanded, the moonlight glinting off his dark eyes as he gazed inquisitively at Jacob, Leah, and myself. "Why is that one still a wolf?" He pointed at me and I instinctively peeled my lips back to bare fangs.

"Easy, Seth," Jake said calmly, stepping back to rest a hand on the top of my head. I relaxed, but my paws still felt like they were tingling beneath me—itchy. Jake continued evenly, "If you don't mind, he's going to stay outside the house and keep watch. It's not that we don't trust you, but you can't blame us for seeking extra protection."

Sam turned around to face us, eyebrows raised. He gave the faintest of nods, but it was a nod of approval, and for half a second my stomach swelled with pride as I forgot that this was just some spur-of-the-moment cover-up for my stupidity. Let Sam think that Jake and I had actually planned this.

The Makah leader let out an audible sigh. "I suppose not. Very well. He may keep watch outside, but if he is found wandering any farther than the boundaries of the yard, please be aware that I will not call off my people should they deem him threatening."

My immediate response (after "What an asshole!") was to wonder what exactly he considered the boundaries of his yard, but as I was still a wolf, I couldn't exactly ask. Ambiguity is the price one pays for forgetting clothes, I guess.

And so, once again, I was left out of all the action as everyone else got to go inside the leader's home and I sat outside with my ears pointing upwards stiffly, listening. The fuckers were cheeky enough to give me a bowl of water.

From what I heard, the Makahs started off subtly enough. They expressed soft concern for the fact that we openly associated with vampires, which I suppose was fair, although not necessarily their business. Jake and Sam tried to explain, though it was complicated, and then things just started getting stupid.

"Vegetarians?" one Makah snapped with a bitter laugh. He was loud enough that I could hear him without straining. "Is that what they call killing bears and deer and other large animals? Just because they are not killing humans—"

"It's called being a carnivore!" Paul snapped back. "What we as humans do is no worse!"

"No! You are wrong. We kill mercifully. Under the vampires' fangs, the animals suffer. And you—you are allies of these…these overgrown mosquitoes!"

At this point my mind started to wander. I swear to God, I'm usually a fairly attentive person, but lately I've been a little spacey, which I think can be credited to the fact that I'm getting sick. I've still got that narcolepsy thing going on and I've missed a meal or two. Mom actually kind of flipped out when I refused dinner two nights in a row, and I think she was getting ready to check me into the hospital, so I ate a plateful of food to appease her and puked it up later. Being sick sucks.

But anyway, I just started thinking about all the problems we Quileutes have had in the past few years, and I came to the conclusion that they've all been vampire-related, which is kind of weird. I mean, can we ever have conflicts of our own? Don't get me wrong, I have this weird sort of affection for the Cullens, but what's so damn special about them that all of our issues stem back to them?

I was ignoring the escalating bickering going on in the house and lying on the ground, pondering what sarcastic yet loveable thing I would say to the Cullens regarding this strange vamp-centric phenomenon when all of a sudden there was a gigantic fox staring at me from three feet away and I almost pissed my hypothetical pants.

I was about to sound an alarm (I was practically asleep! I definitely had not ventured outside of the yard's invisible borders!) when I blinked, and found that I was no longer staring at a fox, but the laidback and easygoing Caroline.

And she was kind of naked.

And by "kind of naked" I actually mean "absolutely starkers."

I choked, averting my eyes, although the porch light had already shown me enough to know that Embry was one lucky son of a bitch. And just like that, he was in my head.

_Seth, what the FUCK is going on over there?_

_Um, uh, funny you should ask…_

"Shh, please be quiet," Caroline whispered, leaning forward to rest her hand on my muzzle. I don't know if she thought that would calm me down or what, but she epically failed, because all I got was a complete eyeful of her naked breasts, which, um, I feel really creepy writing about…

"I didn't mean to scare you," she continued, "but no one can know I'm talking to you. I don't even know if we've met. I'm Caroline…Embry's girlfriend."

_Seth, I'm serious. Why are you thinking of my girlfriend naked?_

_Embry, now isn't a good time—_

I looked down at the ground and sloppily traced an invisible letter S several times.

I could feel Caroline watching me, and I was just beginning to wonder if I was wasting my time when she ventured, "Seth?"

I nodded and instinctively looked up, but was surprised to see that she had a blanket wrapped around shoulders like an oversized cloak, covering her entire body except for her bare feet, which were folded beneath her.

_Now you're censoring? _Embry fumed, and between his voice in my head, the growing argument that I was ignoring inside the house, and Caroline's mysterious presence, I could feel my brain gearing up to massively explode. _You need to tell me what's going on right now._

And of course, because he was talking, I missed what Caroline was saying and only managed to pick up the tail end. "…let him know that, please?"

_Know what?! _I wanted to scream, but of course she wouldn't be able to understand.

I could hear Sam's stern voice reverberating from inside the house, and he was saying something about how the Quileutes would fight if that was what it came down to, and Embry's mind was breathing down my neck, and Caroline was waiting for a response, so I sort of panicked and just phased right then and there in the front yard under the yellow porch light.

I could no longer hear inside the house, Embry's voice was gone, and I could now say, "Let him know what?" And I was totally naked in front of my friend's girlfriend.

I hate my stupid, awkward life.

"Let Embry know that I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell him about us," Caroline said calmly, not missing a beat. She was looking upward politely to ignore my nakedness, but appeared completely unflustered. "Also tell him that the writer and the prostitute will meet at the sitar player's humble abode even though the show can't go on."

…the hell?

Just as I was opening my mouth to ask her what exactly she meant by that, the door to the house flew open and Jared and Paul came storming out, everyone else behind them. They stopped short when they saw me sitting naked in the ground, and I pointed lamely to Caroline, but of course she was already gone and I was stuck looking like an ass.

I HATE MY STUPID, AWKWARD LIFE.

On the way back, everyone recapped what had happened for my benefit, though it was hard for anyone to concentrate because Embry was flipping out in mine, Jake, and Leah's minds, so I had to explain things first to Embry, and then after that I couldn't get a single coherent word out of Leah, because she kept going, _Caroline's a shape-shifter? Another female shape-shifter? Another female…wow…wow… Caroline's a shape-shifter…_

There's something fishy about the Makahs. They're all over our asses about this vampire thing, but their reactions seem completely over-the-top. Like, they're acting worse than we did when we first found out about the Cullens. We didn't achieve any "civilized negotiations," because they wouldn't see reason, and Jake apparently got a little too heated over the whole thing. They don't know about Nesserella yet, and I don't blame Jake for not telling them. God, they'd flip a shit.

They are going to continue "keeping an eye on us," like they're our fucking babysitters or something, and when Sam mentioned us keeping wolves on their territory, they apparently threw a hissy fit, saying that was unnecessary, because they weren't the ones cavorting around with leeches.

So basically we're at this messed up stalemate right now.

They are watching us, and whether they like it or not, we're going to be watching them.

"Just not on school nights, all right, Sethy?" Mom said when Leah and I filled her in.

"Yes, Mom, of course."

And my right hand hurts like a mofo. I need sleep.

* * *

**June 18, 2007**

Everyone is just in a bad mood. Embry is pissed about stuff, but he won't talk about it. At least I know it has nothing to do with me seeing his girlfriend naked, because _that _whole debacle was cleared up the other night. I think it had something to do with the message I gave him, which is weird, because it sounded promising to me.

Well, not the whole prostitute thing or whatever, but I mean, it sounded like she wanted to meet him. Unless she gave him bad news or something, I don't know. Whatever.

Apparently Sam's in the doghouse with Emily. She's upset over this whole thing because she's part Makah, and Sam is being really harsh about it, although if you ask me, harsh is reasonable in this case, because the Makahs are being total douchebags.

I had class today, and it was boring as all hell. I was gonna hang out with Pru and the Jasons afterwards, but I felt sick and didn't feel like dealing with Jason A., because he's kind of the asshole of the group.

Jason A.—Jason Asshole. Perfect.

So while the rest of them ate junk food and played video games, I sat on my bed and stared at the ceiling, wanting to sleep, but not quite able to. My stomach still feels kind of funny. I don't think I'm gonna puke, I'm just…

I don't even know.

* * *

**June 19, 2007**

I'm supposed to be on patrol in fox territory tonight.

Forget it. I feel like shit. I just want to sleep.

* * *

**June 21, 2007**

I don't think I've ever slept for twenty-one hours straight before.

Wow. I'm Seth Clearwater, the human slug.

Mom wants to cram my body with antibiotics. I just want to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.

Charlie nearly dragged me out of the house and into his car to take me to the hospital, but I told him I'd break the thermometers there and he desisted. He doesn't fully know or want to know what the hell is up with us boys on the Rez—not after Jacob went all Wolverine on him way back when—but at least he understands that it would be best if things were kept on the DL.

I told them it was just a bug, I'd be okay.

Leah looked at me all weirdly as I crawled back up the stairs. She was leaning against the doorframe to her room, arms folded. She's all pissed because she took my patrol the other night and had another one last night. "You look like—"

"Shit?" I finished irritably. "Yeah, thanks. I feel like it, too." Then I closed my door.

* * *

**June 25, 2007**

I think someone should cast me in one of those Claritin commercials. You know, the ones that are really fuzzy at first, and then, suddenly, once the ad's protagonist has taken a hit of Claritin, the world is bright and in focus and just absolutely WOW.

Yeah, I should be in one of those, because I feel like my lethargic life has just been zapped back into action. I could put all my experience into a role like that.

I am no longer a shape-shifting slug. I finally feel better, which means Jake is already on my ass about doing patrol later today in fox country. I get the lovely night shift from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. And whatever, it's cool, because I like being a part of all this and want to keep an eye on those Makahs, but sometimes I kinda wish I got paid for this. After all, it's because of my messed-up wolf genes that I'm not able to get a job. I spend too much time protecting La Push and all that, and unfortunately, the city doesn't see fit to compensate us with paychecks. One of these days I keep saying that I'll bring it up to city council, but they'd probably stick me in a psych ward instead.

I've been going to summer school this whole time, too, which is really retarded, if you ask me. But my only real symptom was becoming really kickass at sleeping a lot. Sleeping Olympics? Three time gold medalist right here. But there was no puking except for that one time, and that was because I'd flipped my esophagus into vacuum mode and inhaled the damn food to make Mom happy, so I'm not sure it counts. But I just wanted to lie around and sleep, and felt mildly queasy at times, which apparently was not going to stand in the way of my education.

Never mind that I zoned in and out of focus during my classes. Let Mom think that her poor baby was at least benefitting from being sent to torture camp each morning.

Anyway, I still felt kind of shitty this morning, and Pru was sick of me being a sloth, so after I got out of chem and she got out of U.S. History, she ambushed me and dragged me to the local grocery store against me will.

"Help! Rape!" I shouted half-heartedly as she pushed me into the passenger seat of her little blue Toyota Corolla.

"Oh my God, I'm trying to make you better. Stop being such a pussy. Oh, shit, hang on a sec."

"What?" I groaned, leaning my neck against the headrest and closing my eyes.

I heard her push her breath out through her nostrils. "I should have gotten in first. The door on the driver's side is a piece of shit and has been stuck lately. I literally can't open it, so I've been crawling in through the passenger side."

"Way to drive a turd on wheels, Pru," I congratulated her, already struggling to get up.

She rolled her eyes and pushed me back down with surprising force for a girl her size. "Don't overexert yourself, Clearwater," she spat, and then proceeded to crawl over me in a grand mess of freckly arms and red-gold hair and jangling keys. When she was finally settled into her seat, she huffily started the engine and pulled out of the parking space without buckling her seatbelt.

"Don't get too excited," she warned as we rocketed over a speed bump, since I was clearly in danger of overexciting myself as I rested my head against the window and tried not to die. "I just want you to try this vegetable juice stuff, because it's way better for you than sugary drinks and it should help you feel better and stronger—"

"Woah, woah, are you my _mom_?! Vegetable juice? Seriously? No…no, God, just take me back to La Push, Pru. C'mon. Then you and my mom could both force-feed me some Flintstones-themed vitamins and—"

"Fuck off, Clearwater. This stuff is really good for you. And unless it kills you or something, you have no right to complain."

"You know what? I hope you open the newspaper tomorrow and see the headline: **La Push Boy's Insides Eaten by Nasty-Ass Veggie Drink**, and then you might actually be compelled to feel some remorse for me, if you even know what that is—"

"We're here," she said flatly, throwing the car into a parking space and turning off the engine. I blinked, startled at how close the school was to this grocery store, although I probably shouldn't have been surprised at all, considering that Forks is basically a square foot in area.

So for some stupid reason, I allowed Pru to drag me inside, where she made a beeline for the health food aisle. I was busy marveling over the existence of sugar-free marshmallows (aren't those things basically congealed sugar?) when a shopping cart collided into me rather forcefully.

"Goddammit, Pru—" I began, whirling around to chuck the bag of marshmallows at her, and stopped short when I realized it wasn't Pru at all, but a stick-thin girl dressed in retro-80's clothes, complete with her blond hair looking artfully messy in a side ponytail.

"Oh, hey," I said, still mildly irritated, although my side didn't even hurt all that badly. "Um, lost your time machine?"

"Watch where you're going," the girl snapped, which seemed like a weird thing to say considering _she _was the one who hit _me_. It was also a bit of a non sequitur after I'd made the rather asshole-y time machine comment.

"Um…sorry?"

She stared at me for a good twenty seconds, during which I determined that she was probably one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen, and might even make the top of the list if she wasn't scowling so deeply and hadn't rammed a shopping cart into me. She was also scarily thin, supermodel thin, but I had this weird sort of urge to reach out and touch her collarbones where they stood prominently beneath her neck. Finally, she just rolled her green eyes and said snootily, "You're in my way, you know."

I was taken aback. "Hey, what's your problem?"

And Pru chose that moment to suddenly appear with several small bottles of juice in her arms, dwarfed by both mine and the bitch girl's height. "Uh, got your veggie juice, Clearwater," she started, sounding slightly awkward.

The girl suddenly tore her cold gaze away from me and looked at Pru. "This guy your boyfriend, Prudence?" she asked her, and I saw Pru visibly cringe out of the corner of my eye.

"Wait, you guys know each other?" I asked, but no one listened to me.

"No, he's not, but I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Hmm, well, I'd be careful," the blond continued in a rather derogatory way, as though she wasn't really trying to help out Pru at all. "He's a real perv."

I coughed loudly. _"What!?"_

"Oh, like I don't see the way you're ogling me," she returned, holding her head high and resting her hand on one popped hip, over the checkerboard pattern of her loud dress. "You're so completely obvious, it makes me sick."

"Okay, you're completely crazy," I stated, the pressure from my fingers leaving dents in the soft marshmallows. "Abso-fucking-lutely crazy, seriously. I don't know if you think you're Molly Ringwald or whatever, but I don't actually care, because you need to get some help if you think every guy that so much as _looks_ at you wants to get with you, too. God. Christ."

"Okay, time to go…" Pru edged in. She shifted all the bottles to one arm, cradled against her like a baby, and grabbed my arm in her vice-like grip. She dragged me away while the other girl stared at me incredulously, as if she couldn't believe that someone actually had the audacity to call her out on her shit. I grumbled to myself and fumed as we waited in the check-out line, I grumbled and fumed as the cashier rang us up, and I grumbled and fumed as we made our way back to Pru's car.

"Just forget her," Pru advised airily as she started the car. "Seriously. She's not even worth your anger."

I just ripped open the marshmallows that Pru had bought (they refused to leave my hands, strangely) and downed about twelve of them in a row before ripping the cap off of one of the veggie drinks and chasing down the sugar-free crap.

I don't know what exactly is in those drinks, but I think I owe Pru some thanks, because I already feel a lot better. Like I said—Claritin clear.

But really, that girl. Even now, sitting in my room, I'm angry. And what's weird is that I had been completely apathetic about everything going on for the past week, stuck in my lethargic state…until she crashed that damn cart into my side and proceeded to be a fucking bitch about everything. That argument with her was the first bit of passion I'd mustered all week.

The worst part of all of this—and I mean the absolute worst—is that there may have been just the tiniest, most miniscule thread of truth behind her accusations.

Because she _was_ hot.

In that bitchy sort of way.

And I did sort of want her, although I'm sure that's normal, Collin would say I'm just all hormonal and stuff, because it's been awhile since I've had a girlfriend and it's normal that I would want to jump the bones of some random stranger, although I suppose I would have just jumped Pru's bones if that were the case, except I might have done that and just been too drunk to remember, but whatever, the point is, this blond girl from the grocery store…

OH SHIT.

* * *

**Later**

Twenty-five minutes until I have to go patrolling.

Here's the lowdown.

I would have literally beaten down the Black's front door if Billy hadn't opened it by the second knock, that's how totally messed up I was.

"JAKE!" I screamed as I tore past Billy in his wheelchair and through the halls.

"Seth, what is it?" Jacob cried, stumbling out of his room, looking horrified. "Is it Nessie? Is it Leah? Sue? What's wrong?"

I clutched onto the doorframe to his room, trying to catch my breath. "I've done it," I panted, moaned. "I've imprinted."

His eyes went wide. "Really? See, I told you you'd know when it really happened. But what's wrong?"

And because I was such a messed up nervous wreck, I burst into a giant ball of fur right there in his house, my clothes exploding and settling in the hallway like snow. I could hear my claws clacking against the hardwood floor as I pawed uselessly, unsure how to get myself back under control.

Alarmed, Jacob wasted no time in phasing himself. And then he probed into my head without an invitation.

_SETH_, he thought very loudly, as if I somehow wouldn't be able to hear him even though his voice was screaming in my cranium. _WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU DIDN'T IMPRINT AT ALL._

And for five seconds, my brain felt like a tundra: completely blank.

_When you first saw her, you wanted to throw marshmallows at her head. That's not exactly gravity shifting._

Another five seconds of complete mental emptiness.

_You think she's beautiful, Seth. You're attracted to her. That doesn't make her your soulmate. As it turns out, you're allowed to have…to have crushes on people before meeting your imprint. You may recall the way I felt about Bella…_

I was breathing in and out very, very slowly.

_But—but_, my head stuttered weakly, _I can't stop thinking about her even though she was a total bitch to me. That's not normal, is it?_

_I don't know, Seth. Why don't you ask Emmett?_

I looked up sharply, catching his coal-black eyes. And then the two of us just started to laugh, and eventually Billy rolled his way into the hallway, afraid that we were having wolf seizures on the ground.

False alarm, false alarm, false alarm, false alarm. I'm like the wolf-boy who cried imprint about eighty-six times.

So I'm attracted to this girl that I met for about three minutes and couldn't even stand. And I don't even know her name. What I want to know is why I couldn't just have a crush on Pru. I mean, she and I enjoy verbally abusing one another, and we have a lot of stuff in common. She plays video games for God's sake! She swears like a sailor! She'd be the coolest girlfriend ever. Except…I don't feel that way about her.

My mind is a fucked up place to live.

* * *

**A/N:** First things first: I SUCK.

No, seriously. It took me over an entire month to update, and in the meantime, you lovely, lovely, LOVELY people are still reviewing and favoriting and alerting and leaving me these insane PMs that make me giggle madly like some demented freak all over the place, and meanwhile there's all this guilt building up inside me because I clearly have the time to notice all this is going on, but I don't have the time to write a new chapter or respond to review. So, in short, I SUCK. And I apologize and grovel at your feet and whatever else you deem appropriate at this moment.

Special thanks go out to **lacrema **for being the polar opposite of my suckiness and advertising this story elsewhere, and to **Clichesbullet **for not only advertising in her story, but for also bringing my attention to a detail that I was unaware of (and making me giggle madly like a demented freak all over the place with a ridiculously overkind PM that I totally didn't deserve).

As an update, I'm no longer stalking that Irish kid. He's kind of a jerk. Now I've moved onto someone else, and one would think that I like getting my heart broken because I've deluded myself into thinking that I could be the Jessica Darling to his Marcus Flutie—and if you actually got that reference, I'll bake you virtual cookies or something, BECAUSE THOSE ARE THE BEST BOOKS EVER. Seriously, JD is my cynical hero-on-a-stick.

Dear God, this author's note is getting longer than the actual chapter. (Actually, this chapter got really long. I figured you deserved a little something extra after waiting for so long.)

But really, truly, in all seriousness, I don't ever want to make you guys wait that long again. And I know authors say that all the time and then the next chapter isn't up for like, six months or something stupid. But I'm not gonna do that, because it's winter break and I have no homework and I have lots of stress that I need to vent out vicariously through Seth. So yeah.

Why the hell are you still reading this? Go do something productive, jeez.


	9. So Now I'm a Cannibal, Too?

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Nine  
_

**June 26, 2007**

So there's this little thing called karma, and it bit me in the _ass _last night.

Seriously. You know how I'm always complaining to people about the various woes in my life, whether it's about how my mom is banging my friend's dad or I think I've imprinted or Rosalie made fun of me or I'm stuck in summer school or I'm covered in the stench of _lame_ or I'm grounded or my mom gave me "the talk" or…

Holy crap, I really DO complain a lot, don't I? Like, _a lot_ a lot.

But that's exactly my point. I've been spending so long whining to people about things that they probably don't give a shit about, and so, in return, the universe has grievously punished me by heaping not only my own romantic misadventures upon myself, but also those of Washington's most conflicted couple.

That's right. I am now the romantic liaison between Embry and Caroline.

…to which I say, "What the fuck?"

Do I _look _like a love guru? I mean, really. I'm this goofy-looking freak who hasn't had a girlfriend in a few years and I'm always surrounded by a bunch of video game-playing dudes. I used to collect Pokémon cards, for God's sake! I know about a lot of things, like the greenhouse effect and where to find really cheap clothing after bursting your old stuff into strips of confetti and the cheat codes for Halo 2, but _romance_?

A guy who knows about romance thinks that the greenhouse effect speaks of the power of seduction flowers hold over women.

A guy who knows about romance only buys high-end clothes like Armani and shit and would never burst his old clothes into confetti anyway unless it turned a woman on.

And a guy who knows about romance would definitely _never_ be caught within ten feet of an Xbox, case closed.

A guy who knows about romance…IS NOT SETH CLEARWATER.

And yet I now find myself buried beneath an avalanche of tortured hormonal love angst.

Last night I was on patrol up at Neah Bay. I left shortly after flipping out in the Black's hallway because it takes nearly two hours to get there, even when running in wolf form. Leah likes to brag that she can make the journey in an hour and fifteen minutes and the only reason the rest of us ignore her is because we're secretly jealous. This is another reason that I think the Makahs are total douchebags. If they knew anything about courtesy, they would have picked a fight with a closer reservation. Or they would have just left well enough alone. But they chose the hard way, and because of them I'm now wasting hours and hours of my life that I could spend eating or sleeping or doing other productive things. Fuck _you_, Makahs. Fuck you.

But before I could leave, someone came knock, knock, knocking on my door, and I automatically assumed it was either Charlie or Emily. I mean, Charlie's over all the time now that his own home is an empty nest due to the fact that his daughter got married and preggo and blood-thirsty. And Emily is always popping over for Leah's opinions on certain things regarding the wedding, which sounds really cruel at first, but Leah's been totally cooperative about everything, and trust me when I say that no one is more surprised than me.

"I let her go, Seth," Sam said to me awhile back. And I still don't get it.

And this all stems back to the fact that Embry and Caroline are being really stupid for choosing _me_ of all people, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I sort of stumbled into this role the night of the summit at which I forgot my clothes.

God. Way to go, Seth. Way to go.

Anyway, I was just gearing up for my pre-transformation stripping when someone came knocking at the door and Mom yelled, "Sethy, it's for you! It's Embry!"

So I rebuttoned my pants and hopped on down the stairs to meet Embry, who was standing awkwardly in the front hall, his hands folded in front of him and his gaze cast downwards.

"Thanks Mom, I got it from here," I said, sensing that Embry needed to talk about stuff in private. So we trekked back up to my room, which is so messy that the only patch of clean floor is a thin path that goes from the door to the bed. "What's up?" I asked, sitting on top of an unpacked suitcase from the time Mom, Leah, and I traveled to Seattle a few months ago to check out Antioch University, the place Leah's gonna be going come September.

Embry didn't sit down. He stood in my doorway, his face drawn, and sighed slowly. "I need to ask you a favor. I need you to deliver a message to Caro for me tonight."

I should have said no. I should have told him to grow a pair and do it himself, but he's opted out of doing patrols in Makah territory, and it's not like any of us can really blame him. His heart isn't in this at all. And so, instead of telling him to man up for God's sake, I just nodded dumbly. "Nothing cryptic this time, right? I still don't get the whole prostitute thing."

He didn't even crack a smile. "Sure, Seth. No prostitutes."

Well, then I just felt like a dick for making that comment, but I didn't even have a chance to muster up a half-assed apology when he continued:

"Tell her…tell her that I'm sorry, but I can't let it end this way. She's too important to me. It's not over."

I raised my eyebrows, coughed lightly into the pervading silence, and stood up from the suitcase. "Well," I said awkwardly, brushing invisible flecks of something off my jeans, "if that's all, I've got to get going."

"Thanks Seth. I really, really appreciate this."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving it off with my hand.

And of course, it didn't cross my mind until after I was halfway to Neah Bay with Sam, Quil, Brady, and Paul to ask Embry how exactly I was supposed to _find _her. It also didn't help that I could barely make five strides without thinking of a pair of thin, smooth legs poking out from underneath an 80's style checkerboard dress.

_Who're you—?_

_Don't ask, Quil. Just don't ask._

When we finally reached the Land of the Douches, I immediately requested inner-village patrol, and there was an argument between myself and Quil that lasted for basically forever. He kept telling me that it was too risky to patrol in open areas, that we should all stick to the perimeters, that no one else had ever gone into the village to patrol, and I countered by saying that if the Makahs were up to anything suspicious, they wouldn't be doing it in the _woods_ for God's sake, where they knew we were watching. Eventually he gave in, but he told me that if I ended up getting caught, he wasn't going to stop the Makahs from making a new fur rug out of me. And he also said that if Sam caught me in the village, he _definitely _wasn't going to stop him from tearing me a new one.

That's the only real problem with having two separate packs, we're staring to realize. When Jake's not around, we have no way to communicate with Sam and the rest of them. And I knew for sure that Sam would never be on board with me patrolling inside the reservation, so I led him to believe that I was trailing the woods along the coast before I slinked through the shadows among the tiny homes of the residential part of the village.

Besides, the Makahs still patrol their woods at night, just like we do. Confrontations are awkward, potentially dangerous, and the foxes still smell like total sissies.

So I snuck around the cracked pavement of the streets, keeping an eye out for potentially suspicious behavior from any of the residents and, more importantly, looking in vain for what could possibly be Caroline's house.

I had no idea where she lived. In fact, I didn't even know her last name. It was going to be an impossible task, and I was certain that it was going to be a lost cause; I was going to have to return and tell Embry to deliver his own damn messages—

And suddenly, there she was.

It was nearing one in the morning at this point, but there she was, a lone figure swathed in darkness, sitting on the stoop of a small, red brick house. I didn't even know it was her at first, but the closer I got, the better I could smell all the molecules or whatever swimming about the still night air, and I was able to identify her.

I approached her slowly, but she still stiffened when my shape emerged from the bushes of her neighbor's yard. She leapt to her feet and I froze, afraid she was going to sound an alarm. Motion lights immediately flicked on above her head, and in the orange light, she got a closer look at me.

"Seth?" she breathed, still sounding startled.

The cheeks of her heart-shaped face looked red, her eyes swollen like she'd been crying. She was dressed in a ratty old t-shirt that fell all the way to her knees, and her dark hair was in a messy ponytail.

"Hang on," she whispered, and disappeared into her house.

She reappeared carrying a blanket and tossed it to me. I caught it in my mouth, then hurried back into her neighbor's bushes to phase. I wrapped the itchy blanket around my shoulders, made sure everything was covered, and then reemerged to find her sitting on the stoop again. Cautiously, I sat beside her.

"I couldn't sleep," was all she said, swiping at her eyes.

Without preamble, I delivered the message.

And to say that she was mildly upset would be an understatement. My stomach feels funny now that I'm writing about this, because I hate it when girls cry around me. I never know what to do. Caroline was crying, telling me that Embry needed to make up his mind, that he had to make a commitment, and of course I didn't really understand a word of it, but I tried to remember as much as I could so I could return the message. Caroline said she had so much more to tell him, _so much more_, but she wouldn't set herself up for getting hurt again.

My mind reeled at the word _again_, because for some silly reason, I had imagined that everything had been perfect in the world of Caroline and Embry. Stupidly, I had believed that they were still going strong despite the conflict between our two tribes. I thought they were Super Couple or something, happily together in spite of it all.

How naïve can you get?

Embry was incredibly stoic this afternoon as I told him what Caroline had told me. Then he retreated into his house and nobody has seen him since.

I feel bad for them, I really, really do. But I'm not sure I can deal with this added stress. Don't I have enough shit going on in my life already? My dad's birthday is coming up and he would have been forty-eight. Mom is retreating further into her relationship with Charlie to ignore it. And let's not even get me started on all the other stuff I have to deal with right now.

Embry and Caroline need to find themselves a new bitch.

Too bad I'm too much of a pussy to ever tell them that.

* * *

**June 27, 2007**

"Numero uno shittiest job in the world," Paul declared today, pointing out the window into the afternoon gloom where a garbage tuck was growling along by the curb outside the Black's home. We had all met earlier to discuss what we'd witnessed while patrolling and to formulate further plans, but as usual, the whole thing turned into a giant food fest, and by this point we were basically wallowing in a pile of pizza boxes, chip bags, and other miscellaneous filth.

"I mean, seriously," Paul continued from his reclined position in Billy's favorite rocking chair, "who ever wakes up and says, 'I want to be a garbage man'? Talk about dreaming big." He snorted.

Just as everyone started throwing in their own opinions as to what the _real_ numero uno shittiest job in the world was ("Jockstrap creator!" Quil cried jubilantly, but was thrown down by Brady's suggestion of laxative tester), I said very loudly, "Hey, when I was six, I wanted to be a garbage man!"

The room erupted into laughter and someone chucked a pizza bone at me. "That's it Seth, way to aim high!"

"I don't wanna be one anymore," I grumbled, slouching further back in my chair. I tore a bite out of the cold pizza crust. "'Sides, I 'eard the pay's really goo'."

Sam, who was sitting beside me, leaned close and chuckled lowly, "That's just what they tell you to lure you in, kid."

I swallowed the food violently. "What? No!" I cried, horrified. "Then what's my fallback plan if I can't get anyone to hire me?"

"Garbage man was your fallback plan?" Jake cried to uproarious laughter. "What was your first choice? Sanitation truck cleaner?"

Paul rubbed his chin as he looked at me in mock thought. "Nah, Seth always struck me as the waxing type. You know, those hair remover people?"

"Specializing in men's ass cracks!"

Jared and Collin were practically rolling on the ground by this point, and I just flipped the room the bird. "Fuck all you guys."

"Yeah, well, Paul _would _know what the ass crack waxer type looks like, wouldn't he?" Leah bit nastily. Jared started to asphyxiate on the floor, I barked out a laugh, and we werewolves of La Push carried on as usual.

* * *

**June 29, 2007**

Sometimes I get to thinking that my life must be fictionalized, and somewhere out there, people are finding joy in my misery. It's like that one movie with Jim Carrey, The Truman Show, where his entire life is actually a TV program and all the people surrounding him are actors. I mean, that's how stupid my life is sometimes—so stupid that it just _can't_ be real. Jake often tells me that this sort of paranoia is unhealthy, but what does he know about it anyway?

Jake and I popped over the Cullens' for a bit today. We took Jake's truck to avoid running into the Makahs, who so far have done nothing, but all the same, it would be annoying to have them glare at us disapprovingly as we jaunted off into leech land or whatever. For the record, there are more of them infecting our woods now, and they keep coming closer to town, which is really starting to irk Sam. One of these days we're going to have to have an epic battle. Otherwise, I'll be severely disappointed.

Anyway, Jacob, Edward, and Bella spoiled Nessie for a couple of hours while I attempted to play Jenga with Jasper and Alice.

"I wouldn't remove that one if I were you," Alice warned one time when I was about to remove a wooden piece from a rather steady-looking section of the pockmarked tower.

"Shut up, you can't see my future."

She giggled. "It was worth a shot."

Then Jasper fucked around with my emotional aura or whatever and made me uncertain about all the moves I was going to make until I found myself _absolutely convinced _that taking a piece off the left side of the base was the smartest move, and of course everything came toppling down. While Alice high-fived Jasper from across the table, Emmett came to my rescue and hijacked me over to the couch ("WHO LET THE DOGS OUT, SETHASAURUS REX?!) where he tried to teach me this new version of Rock, Paper, Scissors called Vampire, Werewolf, Human, and I got really confused and eventually gave up and got into a facial expression war with Rosalie from across the room, who finally bared her fangs and I feigned death.

Rose is a lot cooler now that there's a growing child in the house.

Anyway, I was just thinking about how lucky I was to have such awesome friends when we hopped into Jake's truck to drive home, and he swung by a gas station in Forks to refill his tank. He went inside to give money to the attendant and scope out the cheap food, and I stayed outside to run the operation. I flipped the clip on the nozzle to make it pump gas on its own and then leaned against the truck with my arms folded, grinning happily to myself.

A sleek blue Corvette pulled along the other side of the station I was at, and I couldn't help but stare in wonder. The thing looked brand new, or at the very least, like its owner always kept it in the garage and buffed it twice a day, every day. The diver's door opened and I was about to shout a compliment when I realized who was emerging from the car and found the words cut off before they even left my throat.

It was her.

_Her._

I stared as she rummaged around her oversized purse for her wallet. I stared as she dug out her wallet and removed a credit card. I stared as she prepaid the pump. I stared as she selected the grade of gas. I stared as she fiddled with the cap on the tank. I stared as she stuck the nozzle into the car.

She must have found her time machine, but I only knew this because she was now decked out in clothes from an even earlier decade: white go-go boots, an incredibly short and sleeveless pink dress with one of those keyhole neckline things, white hoop earrings, and pink-tinted sunglasses.

God love her, she was a complete and total freak.

She bent over slightly to make sure the nozzle was securely in the tank and I had to swallow very, very hard—she was a _sexy_ freak.

Then she turned around and spotted me, and whatever fantasy world I was jetting off to at the time was instantly shattered the second she opened her mouth:

"Oh my God, are you _stalking_ me?" she cried, sounding more indignant than horrified. She hefted her purse over her right shoulder and clutched it close to her side as though I was some sort of psycho thief-stalker combo.

"What're you—? I was here first!" I yelled.

"Oh please, like you didn't know I'd be here or something. I bet you were just lying in wait behind some building, and then you saw my car and like, beat me here." She took a step back, shaking her head. "I know how you people work."

My jaw might have been on the ground by this point. I was too angry to notice. "That doesn't even make sense!" I spluttered. "Besides, I don't understand how coincidentally running into you in two different locations counts as stalking."

She removed the sunglasses from over her eyes—it was fucking cloudy anyway!—and put them on top of her head. "Well, you're always…well—God, you're always _looking_ at me!"

Was this girl for real? I practically shrieked, "You're looking at _me!_"

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, which sent her long blond hair rippling over her shoulders. "You know what I mean. You're looking at me like…like you want to eat me!"

Losing complete control of my temper, I threw my arms up into the air dramatically and cried, "So now I'm a cannibal, too? Christ, just add that to my list of offenses!"

Jacob materialized out of thin air just then, carrying a large bag of Funyuns back to the truck. He stopped short when he saw me and the girl, and his eyes went wide as he took in the situation. "Everything…all right here?" he asked into the tense silence, effectively shattering it.

"This girl is completely nuts!" I yelled at the same time she accused him, "Your friend is totally obsessed with me!"

"WHAT?!" she and I screamed simultaneously, whirling on one another.

The nozzle clicked and the pump beeped: transaction complete. I ignored it.

"Woah, guys, guys, calm down," Jake said easily, tossing the Funyuns through the open window on the driver's side of his truck and walking closer to me and the blond. He turned to me first, all businesslike as he asked, "Seth, are you totally obsessed with her?"

"Fuck no. She ran a cart into me at the grocery store last week and called me a pervert. Then she comes emerging out of this stupid Corvette like some rich bitch and starts calling me a stalker, totally out of the blue."

What happened next was the weirdest thing: she looked crestfallen. The girl actually looked _crestfallen_, as though being faced with the sheer insanity of the truth was just too disappointing for her. Her shoulders visibly slumped and she looked down at the toes of her stupid boots, her hair falling over her face like a shroud.

"Yeah, well, you hit on me," she mumbled. She looked back up suddenly, her green eyes meeting with mine in a terrible, striking clash. "Persistently."

The explosion I felt coming on was stifled by the fierce lock of her eyes with mine. She truly, honest to God believed this. Somewhere in that mind of hers, she actually convinced herself that I wanted her, and that I wasn't going to stop at anything. I don't know where she got these ideas or what perpetuated them, but in her silly little brain, she was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Taken aback, I could only protest weakly, "You're wrong."

"Look," Jake said, cutting in once again, "I'm real sorry that you feel this way, but I think you've got the wrong guy. Seth says he wasn't hitting on you and he's too thickheaded to lie very cleverly, so I'm gonna guess that your offender is someone different. There are lots of guys that look like Seth out in La Push, so it's completely possible."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I guess," she said, but she didn't look convinced.

"Yeah, that's right. You've got the wrong guy." Then I put the cap on the debate by turning around, yanking the nozzle out of the tank, violently depositing it back in the pump, and climbing into the passenger's side without another look at her. Silently, Jake followed. And then we pulled out of the gas station, leaving her far, far behind.

I can't believe I thought I had some weird crush on her. I'm so done with her. SO DONE.

"You _do _think she's really hot though, don't you?" Jake asked once we were cruising along the highway. "I mean, that's the girl you told me about, right?"

"Totally beside the point," I grumbled. "_Totally_ beside the point."

I'm still waiting for the morning when I wake up and someone tells me that this has all been fake: that nothing in my life has been real; it's all been staged. Dad's death, my shape-shifting, and that girl.

Especially that girl.

Because she's just got to be an actress. I mean, girls like her don't actually exist, do they?

DO THEY?

* * *

**June 30, 2007**

My house has become a florist's shop.

Emily and Leah are trying to find the perfect floral arrangement and bouquet choices for the wedding, which apparently means that they had to buy every single type of flower the local store had in stock and infect our house with them, testing each flower against tablecloth colors, dress designs, and all these other things that I couldn't care less about. The whole house has now been sucked into the Bath and Body Works effect, the same sticky sweetness that affects the Cullens. Needless to say, I've retreated up to my room. Mom can't understand why I've been so "cantankerous" lately, but hell if I'm going to explain the gas station incident to her.

I was completely immersed in my stupid English homework, actually concentrating for once, and then the phone rang and Mom yelled up the stairs that it was for me, which I took as a sign that God simply doesn't want me to get my education through summer school. Otherwise he wouldn't punish my studying with such distractions.

"Seth, hi," a soft, familiar voice breathed into the phone. "It's Caroline."

"Um…don't you have Embry's number or something?" I asked, totally confused. "If not, I can give it to you…" I was rambling, because it's not like girls ever call me at home, not even my friend's girlfriends, who are basically my only friend-girls so I kind of suck at the whole conversing with girls over the phone lines thing.

"No, no, I've got his," she said distractedly. "I found yours in the phonebook because I wanted to talk to you."

This was making zero sense to me. "Huh?" I asked.

"Embry isn't…well, he's not answering his phone when I call. Did you deliver the message?"

I sighed and flopped back on my bed. "Yeah, yeah I did. And he didn't say a word in response."

"Oh shit," she moaned, and it was the first time I ever heard her swear. I don't know why, but the first time you hear someone swear is always the most startling. I guess it's because you always automatically assume someone is sweet and innocent, or at least doesn't cuss, so when you hear the first dirty word come out of their mouth, it changes everything you ever thought about them, because suddenly they're not the Virgin Mary or whatever the male equivalent is; they're just like everyone else on the face of the earth, and that's surprising for some reason. I dunno. And much to my surprise, Caroline added, "Someone must have told him about Tyler. That _has_ to be it."

"Tyler?" I asked, sitting up suddenly.

"Tyler's my—well, he's—" She cut herself off suddenly. "I am going to _kill_ whoever did this. I'm sorry, Seth, I've gotta go."

"Not to commit a homicide, I hope!" I shouted as the other end of the line clicked.

I have this problem of reverting back to stupid comments when I don't know what else to say.

But seriously. Tyler? Does Embry know about Tyler? I thought he was just being his typical brooding self. But who is Tyler? And why does Caroline want to kill someone over this? Is he her secret Makah boyfriend or something?

Christ Almighty. I don't need this shit.

* * *

**July 2, 2007**

Today after English, I was just darting off towards the back of the school where I could phase into a wolf and make my way back home when a flash of blue caught my eye in the parking lot behind me.

What I should have done was kept walking. That would have been the smart, responsible thing to do. But see, I've never really been a smart or responsible kind of guy, so instead of minding my own business, I opened myself up to a whole wide world of nasty repercussions and turned around to get a better look.

And my stupid, stupid, overactive imagination was right: it was a sleek little blue Corvette.

What the hell was she doing here? WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE DOING HERE?

There was a large section of grass between me and the parking lot, and the car was back towards the other end anyway, so there's no way anyone in the car would have been able to spot me, but I pressed myself flat against the side of the building anyway. I told myself that I was being an idiot, a total spaz, that there could be any number of posh, well-preserved Corvettes hanging around Forks.

And then, to my complete and utter surprise, Jason M. approached the car. He opened the door to the passenger's side and paused for a second as though speaking to whoever was driving. Then the trunk popped and he moved to toss his backpack in, giving me a shot through the open door and to the diver's side.

Blond hair. The car was pretty far away, but there was blond hair. And some sort of brightly colored outfit.

As I raced home, my mind was a blur of thoughts. Jason M. was her boyfriend. That had to be it. I mean, he was kinda rich, too. It made perfect sense.

I tried not to think about it all day, because I'd promised myself that I was done with that bitch. What was she to me? Besides, I didn't want to prove her right by actually obsessing over her. Heaven forbid.

Four thirty rolled around and I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up the phone and called Jason M.'s cell.

"Seth, what's up?" his voice said casually after two and a half rings.

"That girl you got a ride with after school," I said immediately. "Who was she?"

"What?"

"That girl, Jason! I saw you get into a blue car with a girl after English. Who was she?"

He laughed into the phone, blowing air through the receiver. "Dude, that was my sister, Lauren. Why d'you—"

But I hung up the phone.

His sister. Lauren. That's her name. Lauren.

Lauren Mallory.

* * *

**A/N:** Wait, wait, don't kill me yet! Hear me out!

…I have no defense. Have at me, I suppose. I just have this weird thing for minor characters, especially ones no one really likes, and weave them into stories at all possible moments.

You have all been so amazing lately, and it just blows me away. I think that's why I've started referring to everyone as "darling," and "m'dear" in my review responses. If I haven't called you that, don't flip out and think that I hate you, because IRL, I don't ever call people that. It's just slowly starting to become this weird spontaneous impulse in review responses, and I'm not sure there's an explanation for it. I must really like you guys, you silly lovers of all things gangly and awkward.

(Apparently no one got my Marcus Flutie/Jessica Darling reference in the last author's note. In that case I must urge you to find Megan McCafferty's book _Sloppy Firsts_ and read it and its predecessors immediately. Trust me, if you like this man-journal, you are going to LOVE the cynical diary of Jessica Darling. LOVE IT.)


	10. Ladybugs, I'm on to You

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Ten_

**July 4, 2007**

"So wait, do you guys celebrate the Fourth of July or no?"

Pru and I were sitting on ratty lawn chairs amidst a large, chatty crowd in Forks's Tillicum Park. The annual demolition derby was going to begin soon, and we were killing the time by devouring a bag of kettle corn and making fun of each other.

I leaned back, stretching my legs out until they took up most of the space underneath the chair in front of me. "Nah. I mean, that'd be kind of weird, wouldn't it? Celebrating the oppression of our people and whatever."

Pru laughed lightly despite a mouth full of popcorn. She swallowed and said, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Are you being considered a traitor for being here today, then? Like, are the elders gonna come after you with tomahawks or something when you get home tonight?"

I snorted. "We're _people_, Pru, not total barbarians. All that shit was in the past, anyhow. Just because we don't shoot off fireworks doesn't mean we sit around bonfires and plot ways to take down the white supremacy. Besides," I added, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bag and successfully losing half of it in the grass, "we still join in on the festivities for Forks Old-Fashioned 4th of July. Call us hypocrites, but we like to have fun." I gestured widely to the water-coated arena some twenty feet before us.

"I was kidding, dumbass. And speaking of your tribe, here come two of them now…" Her voice faded into nothing, and I looked up in time to see Collin and Brady making their way towards me. The grins on their faces could only be described as maniacal.

I said easily, "Hey guys, what's up?" I looked over their shoulders to see if anyone else was here yet, since we never missed the demolition derby. It was total testosterone-driven fun, and no man was worthy of his illustrious Man Card if he couldn't come up with a legit excuse for sitting at home and missing it.

"Oh, nothing much," Brady replied just as easily, casually helping himself to our food. He is a few inches taller than Collin, but I'm still a head taller than him when standing up. The curse of being naturally tall to begin with was that I still manage to tower over everyone else after the ancient magic or whatever sets in, giving our wolfy freakinessness my own personal spin. "Just chilling with the guys over there"—he jerked his thumb in some vague direction that indicated nothing—"and when we saw you, we thought we'd just, you know, pop on over to say hi." He looked at Pru the entire time he was talking.

Now would be a good time to mention that Brady is basically the biggest horndog I know. In fact, the only girl I've never seen him stare lustily after is my own sister, and that's because she treats him like a pet, ruffling his hair and giving him her leftover pizza and stuff. He's probably scared shitless of her, too, like almost every other guy in La Push, so that might explain it. But with the exception of Leah, Brady flirts with and hits on and dry humps any female that ever happens to cross his line of vision, which would probably be funny if it weren't so pathetically true.

He's basically the neo-Quil, since someone had to take over as Ladies' Man of La Push once Quil's heart was eternally stolen by a girl in diapers.

I made no secret of kicking him in the shin, which had no impact at all. "Guys, this is my friend Pru. Pru, these two idiots are Brady and Collin."

I felt a little bit sorry lumping Collin into the same category as Brady, but I could tell by the strange winks and glances he was sending in my direction that he thought that Pru was my hot bitch of choice, and any pity I might have felt for his connection to Captain Boner was lost.

"Mm, nice to meet you guys," Pru said a little dryly, not yet certain if she trusted these gargantuan boy-men that I called friends.

"Forget it," Brady said airily, waving his arm for effect, "the pleasure's all mine. You kids sticking around for the fireworks? Cuz we've got a little extra room on the blanket we brought, and…"

I don't even know how he finished his useless come-on, because I was too overwhelmed with the idea of him and the rest of the guys digging through a closet and picking out a goddamn _blanket_ to bring to the Old-Fashioned 4th of July, and I was just starting to imagine the patterning (a regal moose?) when I heard Pru reply tartly, "Your attempt to get into my pants is cavalier and all that, but I really think I'm gonna have to pass on the offer, thanks."

I was three seconds from yelling "COCKBLOCKED!" for the entire population of Forks to hear, but Collin quickly started to drag Brady away, and I'm not sure the elderly woman sitting a few feet away with a horde of grandchildren surrounding her would have been as appreciative of the praise as Pru might have been.

"Nice friends you've got," she remarked curtly, reaching behind her head to tighten her strawberry blonde ponytail. "Seriously. Great guys."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Yeah, sorry about Brady. But Collin's not so bad, really."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, mmhmm. Because I totally didn't see the way he was looking between us like he expected we were fuck buddies or something."

"Wow, that's awkward."

She shrugged. "That's definitely what he was thinking."

"Well, yeah, I know that, but you didn't have to mention it or anything."

"Why not? Because it reminds you of when we met at Jason M.'s party, and the unsolved mystery of whether or not we fucked?"

"Do you _thrive_ on awkward conversations, Pru? Seriously?"

She lazily flicked a piece of popcorn at me and stood up to reposition her legs underneath her body, pretzel-style. "Sort of. Speaking of Jason, where the fuck are the three of them? We've got these stupid lawn chairs for them, and people are eying them like goddamn vultures."

It was another fifteen minutes before the three Jasons showed up, and the demolition derby had already started. Pru and I were enraptured by the cars smashing into each other and the smoke pouring from their hoods. We were each cheering for someone different and would toss popcorn at each other each time something bad happened to our picks. I vaguely noted that there was a girl sitting on Jason P.'s lap, some anonymous brunette with jean shorts that could double as underwear. I didn't even notice her until her thigh bumped the arm of my chair, but I waved off her apology, barely taking my eyes away from the derby. I could feel Pru staring at me afterwards and turned to look at her, blankly asking, "What?"

But before she could answer, a group of three older girls passed my vision off in the distance, weaving through chairs and annoyed people who craned their necks to see around the girls as they walked.

And of course, Lauren Mallory was one of them.

I couldn't help it: my head pivoted around as she walked past, following her, my lips parted.

"What the fuck, man!" Jason M. suddenly slammed the back of his hand into my arm from two seats over, though I barely felt it. "What the hell do you want with my sister?"

I swirled around, but I could still see the blue of her blouse in my peripherals. "I don't, uh, your sister…" I said eloquently and calmly. She disappeared from edge of my vision. "I wasn't even looking at her, Jason, I was looking at that, uh, you know, that thing over there, that, uh, Pru I mean, because she was talking to me…"

But Pru would have no part of it. "Like hell you were paying attention to me," she grumbled, arms crossed.

There was hostility in Jason M.'s eyes, but he just shrugged it off and said to his shoulder, "Whatever, I don't care, but it's your funeral."

"Oh, come on!" I cried, giving up on lying about it. "It's not like I've _done_ anything—"

"I _said_ I don't care. She's just such a bitch, is all."

I was so surprised by his response that I actually laughed, and he looked at me sharply. I said jovially, "Is that all? Dude, I knew that."

His facial expression didn't change. "I'm serious. She'll eat your heart for dinner if you giver her the opportunity."

"That's sick."

"It's fucking true."

My fingers pressed into the cool plastic armrest of my lawn chair, my short nails scraping each subtle bump on the rough surface. "Don't worry about it. My _heart_"—I managed to roll my eyes at the word—"has nothing to do with it." And hell, I couldn't tell you whether or not I was telling the truth, because it hardly matters much, does it? I mean, I'm Seth Clearwater, perverted, gangly Squanto-wannabe who exists solely to make her life miserable, and she's Lauren Mallory, queen of the goddamn universe, or at least the queen of goddamn Forks, Washington.

"So, what," Jason M. replied, "it has nothing to do with your heart and everything to do with your dick?"

Pru groaned, "Oh, for fuck's sake. _Boys_."

"What? No!" I cried, horrified and slightly flustered.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "She'll break that, too. In _half_. With pliers. Rusty ones."

And the whole time we watched the demolition derby, the whole time we watched the fireworks, the whole time we joked around with each other, the whole time Brady was cockblocked again and again when we joined him and the others after fireworks, I found myself wishing that I could simply walk into EB Games and buy a walkthrough manual to life. With color pictures.

So I could see the green of her e—

NO.

NO.

NO.

Color manuals are more expensive, anyway.

--

**July 6, 2007**

Today was officially my last day of summer school semester one. No more remedial English, remedial chemistry, and freaking stress management. (Actually, it may or may not have been _remedial_ stress management, a.k.a. P.E. for Complete Morons, but I have no real evidence of this other than the fact that I was one of six students, four of whom were high basically every day and still managed to pass.)

And you know, I have to say, I don't feel any smarter than I did when I started five weeks ago. I mean, just saying.

Mom says it's purely psychological—that I didn't learn anything because I'd convinced myself from the start that I was wasting my time. I think she's kind of annoyed that I shut myself off like that, but I'm not entirely sure that's true. I mean, there's also the distinct possibility that my teachers just sucked at their job. Or I'm just an idiot.

Although I have to admit, J. Alfred Prufrock and I are bros now:

_No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;  
Am an attendant lord, one that will do  
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,  
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,  
Deferential, glad to be of use,  
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;  
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse  
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—  
Almost, at times, the Fool._  
-from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot

I just gave him an imaginary fist bump.

--

**July 7, 2007**

Frick-frackin' Makahs.

This lack of action is driving me up the wall. _Nothing is happening_.

They just cavort around our woods, watching us, and we just cavort around _their_ woods, watching _them_, and it's like, what is the goddamn point?

I have not seen anything cool or awesome or even remotely suspicious when on patrol in their territory. In fact, the most interesting thing I ever witnessed was someone watching Shrek in their living room, and I could see the TV through the front window. And it got to the point where everyone was so freaking bored that there was eventually a group of four wolves lined up on the lawn of some random house, watching Donkey annoy the shit out of Shrek. And later, when we got back to La Push as the sun was rising and Sam asked us to report on what we saw, we made up some story about watching some of their foxes ravage a dumpster, which he blew totally out of proportion and was about to go investigate the nearest landfill until we finally told him the truth. Naturally, he was really pissed about it, but it was way too early for all of that and we were all dying to get some food in our stomachs, so Paul was just like, "Screw you, Sam, I'm makin' _waffles_," and we all cracked up, leaving Sam red in the face, and that was the end of that.

The four of us have never been put on patrol together again. Huh.

Anyway, this lack of action is making all of us a little restless I think, because we're starting to look for trouble in places where it doesn't exist. For example, last week one of the n00bs spawned by Ye Olde Vampire Reunion of '06, Devon, came running out of the woods screaming, "The squirrels! The squirrels are shape-shifters!" And we all thought it was really flipping hilarious until the paranoia started to get the rest of us, too. I spent an hour and a half yesterday listening to Brady talk about this giant crow that had the audacity to _look_ at him as he skirted the edge of the woods, and how its gaze was so "piercing" and "hauntingly humanistic" that there was no way in hell it was a real crow, and that it just had to be a shape-shifter. We all rolled our eyes and stuff, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the crows around here are big and fat and just plain old _huge_, which is just kind of weird for birds, and there's this sneaking suspicion camping out in the back of my brain that Brady isn't crazy after all and every single animal we've ever known and trusted is actually a shape-shifter.

"Brain," I said out loud today, "I have enough paranoia on my plate right now as it is. I don't need this shit."

But alas, my brain did not listen.

Ladybugs, I'm on to you.

--

**July 8, 2007**

I no longer think that I caused my father's death.

I know I didn't.

It wasn't my fault, nor was it Leah's.

We couldn't help what happened, just like he couldn't help the fact that his heart was weak.

The first six months were horrible. I couldn't stand to be _me_ anymore, because I was convinced, I was _so completely convinced_ that if I had been anyone other than myself, Dad wouldn't have died. If my DNA had been just that much different, the wolf-genes would have stayed out of me and Dad would have stayed alive. But I couldn't stand to be the wolf either—that was what I called it in my head, the wolf, all detached and impersonal because I couldn't associate myself with that creature. It wasn't Seth Clearwater; not at first. It was the wolf's fault that everything had happened the way it did. If it weren't for the wolf, everything would have been perfect.

But it was hard not to be the wolf. Whenever I got upset and disgusted with my human self I would just _feel_ it start to happen, would feel my growing bones ache, my muscles throb, and a snarl would rise up in my throat before I could repress it, and everything was shifting, my body was convulsing and transforming without my say-so, and there it was, the wolf, right inside my bedroom or in the woods or behind a shed, and I was stuck somewhere inside its stupid head.

I could never help the poisonous thoughts. It was just the natural line of thinking.

_Seth, stop it_, Leah would command me, and I would try so hard to push away the sound of her mind, because nobody in the world wants their _sister_ hearing their thoughts. But she would persist: _Seth, no, we didn't. Please stop. We didn't kill him, it's not our fault, we didn't do it._

But she thought it sometimes, too, and those times were the worst. Because not only did I have my guilt swirling around inside my head and my stomach, but there was hers too, and I could feel it weighing down my mind, her grief mixing with mine, accusing, relentless, exhausting. Leah would run. That's how she got so fast, I think. She ran and she ran and she ran, trying to leave it all behind her, and so many people thought it was just about Sam; they didn't understand that having to hear his thoughts was not half as bad as hearing her own.

Leah had her running, and I had—what? Jake? He took me in, mentored me, didn't ask too many questions. After all, we'd both lost someone that day. I lost my dad and he lost Bella, pretty much in one fell swoop. I'm not ignorant to the fact that, had my dad not died, there never would have been any mix-up, and the Cullens never would have returned. And it still makes my brain ooze out my ears to think of it, but if Leah and I hadn't phased into wolves that day, Dad wouldn't have died and Bella would have been with Jake and I never would have become friends with any of the Cullens and Nessie would never have been born and—crap, there goes my brain, leaking onto the floor.

Today Dad would have been fifty-four. But he will never surpass fifty-two.

I've stopped trying to place blame, stopped looking into all the "what if?" situations, stopped thinking too hard over it, because in the end, thinking about it only leads to hurt and guilt, and I can't handle that.

We try not to be sad anymore, Mom and Leah and I. We didn't do anything out of the ordinary today, except instead of leaving the house to hang out with friends or Charlie after dinner, we all settled in front of the TV and watched Planes, Trains & Automobiles because it was Dad's favorite movie. And we laughed at all the best parts even though we've seen the movie about a hundred times since last March, and when we got to the end where Steve Martin is finally reunited with his family and he embraces his wife, Leah and I sat a little closer to Mom, and she grabbed our hands but didn't cry.

Charlie came over around ten o'clock, and at first I thought it was going to make me mad, but there was this special on the pop culture of the '90s on TV and we all sat around watching it and cracking up and making commentary, and it was fun, and my stomach felt light with laughter rather than heavy with guilt. I'm not going to say that we felt like a family, because we didn't, but I keep thinking of Alice's certainty that Charlie and my mom are going to be happy together, and after tonight I believe it.

I miss my dad so much. And while I would do anything, absolutely anything to bring him back, I know it's not going to happen. But since I've always known that, that was never the problem. What's different now is that I'm okay with it. This is my reality, right here and now: Seth the Amazing Wolf Boy, Makah douches, retarded friends, summer school, Charlie, imprinting paranoia, Her Royal Highness…

It is what it is. And it's okay.

Happy birthday, Dad.

--

**July 10, 2007**

Okay, I get it. There are kids starving out there in Tunisia and Chad and stuff, and people are being molested and evicted from their homes and dying of cancer and any combination of all of these. But I don't see why any of this should prevent me from thinking I'm having a shitty day.

I mean, let's put things in perspective. There's this boy living in Tunisia—let's call him Aziz, all right? Aziz is ten years old and he lives in a hut made out of cow dung. I don't actually know if people in Tunisia live in poop huts, but somewhere in Africa, I know people do. So for the purposes of this hypothetical situation, we're saying that that place is Tunisia. Anyway, for poor little Aziz (or Azzy, as his friends call him, and Zizi, as only his mom can call him without losing a pair of nads) the average day consists of fetching water from fifteen miles away, crafting more huts out of cow dung, caring for his two sick aunts, and finding out that he's been arranged to marry the ugly girl from two huts over. He is also starving. But for Aziz, this is normal. For him, a day would only be considered shitty if something exponentially crappy happened, such as the slaughtering of several village elders or the beginning of a terrible plague. Because that's just how life is.

But my life is very different from that of little Aziz of Tunisia. So what would be considered a blessing to him (for example, the only edible thing left in the pantry is a box of old croutons) would count as shitty for someone like me. So I'm entitled to thinking today sucks, dammit.

Because really, today did suck.

I mean, besides having to eat a bowl of croutons with milk for breakfast, I also had a run-in with Embry that took a turn for the worst.

I was at the convenient store, seeing if they had any stupid protractors for stupid remedial geometry, but was distracted by the junk food aisle, where I saw Embry stocking up with a giant armful of bags.

"Dude, are you having a party soon or what?"

He looked at me over the mountain of chips and pretzels, and his dark eyes looked almost hauntingly tired. "Hey Seth. No, no party."

"Oh, lemme guess. Your cupboards are bare, too." I laughed and grinned widely. "Stocking up on the essentials, I see."

He just sighed. "No, the cupboards aren't bare, either. I just want this stuff."

And suddenly it dawned on me. "Oh my God, Embry, you _girl_! You're depression eating."

His eyes narrowed. "Um, no."

See, normally I would find Embry's unamused presence to be rather intimidating. We're about the same height, but he's got that whole strong and silent thing going on, which not only makes him way sexier than me (or so I've heard, because I totally don't judge other dudes or anything, because I like girls and boobs and stuff and…just forget it), but also gives room for his muscles to do all the talking. I'm too busy saying dumb things to have that same effect. But on this occasion, his entire torso and half of his face was hidden behind bags of junk food, and this illusion gave me courage.

"I mean," I said, "girls eat chocolate and whole tubs of ice cream when they're upset, right? You're having that same reaction over all this shit with Caroline!"

Really, I was quite proud of my deductions.

But Embry just shook his head. "This isn't about Caroline, Seth." I'm honestly not sure if that hint of sadness was in his eyes prior to this moment. "I'm upset, but it's over. She doesn't want me anymore, so we're done."

And just when it seemed like this was more of a sucky day for Embry than anyone else, here's where I stepped in to royally fuck things up, as I tend to do.

After all, this was news to me. Since I had seen first-hand how badly she had wanted things to work out between the two of them, I could only assume that she had chosen her secret Makah boyfriend over him. "Oh," I said, still stunned, "so how'd you find out about Tyler? She's going to kill whoever told you, you know."

There was a long pause. Then—

"Who the hell is Tyler?"

Well shit.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

I swallowed uncomfortably; my tongue suddenly felt too huge and too dry for my mouth. "Um, well Embry, that's a—that's a really good question. Um…"

He dropped all the bags at his feet.

"Don't kill the messenger!" I yelled, glancing towards the counter as if I thought the creepy, toothless owner had a panic button or something like they do in banks.

"Who's Tyler, Seth?"

"Well, see, that's the thing. I don't exactly know."

He raised one eyebrow, effectively giving me the willies. "You don't know," he stated.

I shook my head. "No, here, let me explain. You see, she called me the other day…"

In retrospect, that wasn't exactly the smartest way to start, considering how he already knew about the time she approached me naked, but I told him what had happened when she called earlier this week. It wasn't much of a story and didn't actually clear up anything, but it was the truth, and Embry could tell I wasn't lying.

"I—I'm sorry, Embry. I don't know anything else."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I know, I know," he said slowly. "I shouldn't even—it's not my business anymore—she's not my girlfriend…" He emptied his lungs loudly and looked at me with a grim smile. "Thanks for telling me, Seth."

And now that I'm here in my room, writing about this incident several hours after the fact, it has suddenly dawned on me:

I am officially on Caroline's hit list.

--

**July 11, 2007**

"Dude, I know you're thinking about my sister."

This is what Jason M. said the instant he opened his door to find me standing on his welcome mat.

"No, I'm not."

"Then you're thinking about Pru."

"Negativo."

"Then you've stumped me. Who are you mentally boning today?"

"Why the fuck am I friends with you? You're as bad as Brady. Can I please come in your house, since, you know, you _did_ invite me over after I finished class today."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"I'm actually thinking about this girl named Caroline."

"I knew it! Who is she?"

"My friend's ex-girlfriend."

"Seth, you _dickhead_. I love it."

"It's not like that. Their story is tragic."

"How so?"

"It's complicated. They're not together because of matters out of their own control. That, and she has a secret boyfriend, but that's another story for another time. Anyway, I think they both really like each other still, but it's difficult and—why the hell am I telling you all of this?"

"No fuckin' clue. Wanna play Halo?"

"Sure."

--

**Later.**

I wish I had the moral sleaziness to lie to my own man-journal, but clearly I fail at even keeping the truth from a goddamn bundle of paper.

That isn't all that happened when I went over to the Mallorys' house today.

"Seth," Jason M. said after we'd been playing Halo for about an hour, "I think you should talk to my sister about this shit with your friends, because, as someone in possession of a vagina, she is more equipped to deal with this than I am."

"Are you trying to set me up with her?"

"No?"

"Didn't you beat me up a few weeks ago when I joked about fucking your sister? And that was before I even knew you had a sister."

"Okay, you want the truth?"

"I do."

"I think it would be really funny to see you lose your dick to a pair of rusty pliers."

My loins reflexively withered and died.

"Oh, hey, speak of the devil!" he cried when, seconds later, the front door opened and closed, followed by the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "HEY LAUREN! MY FRIEND'S GOT GIRL PROBLEMS FOR YOU!"

"FUCK OFF, JASON. I'M NOT IN THE MOOD."

This exchange lasted for another minute or so, and the entire time I just sat there, the Xbox controller lying uselessly in my lap while I awaited my fate. Half their conversation consisted of "fuck you" and "no, fuck _you_" before I finally yelled, "IT'S SERIOUSLY NOT A BIG DEAL!" and, slightly miffed, Lauren yelled back, "WHO'S WITH YOU, ANYWAY?"

"NO ONE!" I yelled back, casting Jason M. some very desperate looks, because even though there was this part of me that wanted to see her, there was this bigger part of me that wanted to not have my dick hewn in half by rusty pliers, which she most certainly would do when she discovered I was in her house.

"IT'S THAT SETH KID. THE ONE FROM LA PUSH."

Fuck you, Jason M. Fuck you very, very much.

There was a long silence. Then her heels clacked ominously on the floor and approached the landing to the stairs. Muffled footsteps against carpet. Light swishes of fabric approaching Jason M.'s bedroom. The hottest, bitchiest girl in the world looming in the doorway, hip popped out, eyes gleaming, fingernails drumming.

I gulped. "It's, uh, it's really no big deal, you know…"

"Nonsense," she replied, pulling her painted red lips tightly back together once the word was out of her mouth.

"Seriously, it's not. In fact, I don't even feel like explaining it again."

And then she laughed so harshly and suddenly that I jumped and the controller buttons rattled in my lap, small tremors of plastic on plastic. "Since when are you afraid of me?"

And that's when I flared up. "What?" I cried. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"Yes, you are. You don't want to talk to me."

"Because you'll bitch me out for no reason like usual!"

Her eyes narrowed to small slits. "You're starting to give me a very good reason."

"What?"

"You're pissing me off."

"Clearly that's not hard to accomplish. Most days, all I have to do is _look_ at you to achieve that effect."

"Did you have a problem you want solved or not?"

"Oh, like you could help, anyway."

"Whatever. Suit yourself."

And then she was gone.

I stared at my lap.

"That was fucking hilarious!" Jason M. crowed into the silence. "I need to invite you over more often!"

* * *

**A/N: **And with that, I am officially off of hiatus. Is this chapter up to snuff? It's been awhile, and I feel good about it for the most part, but I feel like something is slightly off.

I have so much to say, but because I've been so wordy in my author's notes as of late, I'll just say this: _you are all incredible_. Beyond words. I'm so grateful to have such a patient, energetic, generous, hilarious readership.

I'm going to be editing all the previous chapters now in order to fix typos, inconsistencies (Seth's messed up summer school schedule, for one), and other mistakes. Flat jokes that make me cringe will be purged, but there will be no major changes. If you've noticed something that needs to be fixed, either let me know through a review or PM, and I'll be sure to change it.

Thank you so much for stopping by and reading.


	11. The Umbrella Gives Its Regards

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Eleven_

**July 13, 2007**

Today when I walked out of the Atearas' bathroom, I heard Quil and Paul arguing with Rachel and Kim out on the patio where we were all hanging out.

"That is so fucking messed up," Paul was saying. "Why would you even—"

"It's _realistic_," Rachel interrupted, then began to laugh.

Paul did not sound happy as he snapped back, "And how would you know?"

"What's going on?" I asked as I walked outside and closed the sliding door behind me. The girls' faces were red with barely-concealed amusement as they lounged back in their seats. Paul looked genuinely disgusted and Quil was contemplating his orange popsicle rather unhappily.

"Perfect timing, Seth! We need you to weigh in with your opinion." Rachel leaned forward and a wicked grin split across her face. "Do you think Bella practiced with popsicles to prepare herself for Edward?"

"To prepare her—_why are you asking me this?_"

A giggle escaped Kim. "Enquiring minds want to know!"

"I don't—I really can't—" I spluttered as my brain malfunctioned.

"We're just talking about deep throating a popsicle," Rachel said nonchalantly, like this wasn't the most messed up thing she could possibly be talking about, "although now that I think about it, shoving one up there would have been—"

"Why are we talking about this?!" I cried, horrified and embarrassed. "Bella is my _friend_! Now when I go to the Cullens' I'm going to be unable to keep this conversation from my mind, and Edward is going to hear my thoughts, and what the fuck, guys? What the fuck?"

"Can we not talk about deep throating anymore?" Paul asked weakly.

"Besides," I rambled on, "I don't think vampires are _that_ cold, that a popsicle is a good substitute, uh, not a good, um—"

"Dildo," Kim finished for me.

Paul leaned back, his face a dark raincloud. "You have officially ruined popsicles for me forever." I seconded this.

Quil stood up abruptly. "I fucking hate all of you," he declared before brushing past us and into his house, where he presumably pitched his popsicle in the trash.

--

**July 14, 2007**

This is my new plan:

Whenever someone asks me what my name is, I will reply proudly, "Seth M. Clearwater." And when they ask what the M stands for, I will tell them, "Masochistic." And then my mother will pop out of nowhere to inform the inquiring party that my real middle name is Aaron, to which I will politely respond, "No, I got it legally changed." Which I haven't actually done, but I might as well.

So Jason A. called me and was like, "It's eighty fucking degrees. Time to hit the development pool. You, me, Big Dip, Jason, and Jason." Big Dip is his nickname for Pru, which is a shortened version of Big Dip o' Ruby, which is apparently some red-hot crayon color, I don't fucking know, it's just another way for Jason Asshole to objectify his female friends. He's good at that. At least Pru's nickname is weird enough to not make sense. There's really no mistaking the blatant douchebaggery of nicknames like Tits of Steel, Sweet Beaver, and Bootylicious.

Anyway. I said, "Sure thing," hung up the phone, and gathered my shit to go swimming.

I had no ulterior motives. I just wanted to hang out with my friends in Forks. I don't use and abuse people, I appreciate who I'm with, blah blah blah. I did not think for one tiny second that I would run into Lauren at the pool, except I totally just lied and it absolutely crossed my mind that Lauren would be there, which is why I made sure to bring a normal beach towel and not my Power Rangers one, which may or may not be my favorite.

She wasn't there at first, which allowed me an hour of actually being normal with people I actually like. Jason A. mercilessly hit on Pru, Pru used me to deflect his advances, Jason M. kept doing cannonballs and pissing off the moms who were with their babies in the shallow end, Jason P. sat on the edge and judged each of Jason M.'s leaps, and everything was going spectacularly well until I heard Jason A. yell, "Heyyyyyyyooo, Lemon Tart!"

Lemon Tart = Lauren Mallory. Of course.

She had clearly come to tan, which was basically the most distracting thing in the entire world, goddammit, because she was just over five and a half feet of golden-brown skin slathered in suntan lotion, all stretched out and completely unapproachable. It was weird to see her in a modern bikini as opposed to her baffling retro outfits, but weird is not necessarily a synonym for unpleasant—in fact, I would say it was the exact opposite of unpleasant.

Anyway, before I start freaking drooling all over you, man-journal…

I tried to act like nothing was different, honestly, I did. But I kept doing that thing, you know, where I felt myself involuntarily glancing over towards her several times a minute. One time I tried to force myself not to look at her for five whole minutes, and of course I gave in after about twenty seconds. I couldn't help it. I didn't _want_ to be this mesmerized by her, especially because she was a total bitch, let's not forget that one, Seth, all right? But it was just one of those things.

After the lifeguard stopped our game of chicken before we'd even started, I decided to take a break and got myself an Orange Crush from the vending machine and set up camp at a table away from the pool deck. I was just about to congratulate myself for forgetting about Lauren for almost three whole minutes when I felt my heart jump into my mouth because she was _right fucking there_, three tables over. She was poking a straw around a purple sno-cone and absently gazing out at the pool while the umbrella at her table was rolled down so she could continue to catch the sun's rays even though she was taking a small time out.

_Go over there and talk to her_, this small, masochistic part of my brain told me.

_Fuck no_, a slightly more sane part of my brain replied.

And that's when all the inanimate objects started giving me advice.

_Seth, talk to her_, my Orange Crush said.

_Don't be such a pussy!_ my towel barked from the ground. My Power Rangers towel would never have said that to me.

The umbrella spoke very slowly and deliberately, slow-mo style, because clearly I am a moron. _Gooooooo…taaaaaaaaalk…tooooooo…heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer…_

Meanwhile, I was all like, "What the fuck?" because of course those objects weren't really talking to me, but they might as well have been, because the confusion going on in my brain (do it, don't do it, _do_ it, _no_, DO IT, WAAAAAAAAUUUUGGGHHHHH) was beginning to feel bowl of oatmeal-ish, and that's just never a good thing.

"You guys are dicks," I said to the empty table as I scooped up my shit and went to go talk to her.

The concrete was warm underneath my feet as I padded over to her table where she was still picking at her sno-cone and watching kids splash around the pool. Just as I was beginning to approach creepy hoverer status, I licked my dry lips and said, "Uh…boo!" WHICH I REALIZE WAS THE STUPIDEST FUCKING WAY TO INTRODUCE MY PRESENCE, OKAY, I KNOW, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I watched as she turned around slowly, her mouth a firm line. She lifted her sunglasses with one hand and gazed up at me blankly. "Any reason you're standing in my sun?" she asked, which was complete and utter bullshit because my shadow fell horizontally on the ground beside me and wasn't anywhere near tainting her.

"I just came over to chat. The umbrella gives its regards."

She let her sunglasses drop back over her eyes and politely ignored my obvious insanity like one would ignore any other type of handicap. "Aren't you afraid you're going to piss me off?"

"Oh, that," I said. "That's a given. It's something I've come to accept, is all."

She looked at me for a few more seconds, and I could feel my stupid heart pounding against my ribs. Ka-_thunk_, ka-_thunk_, fuck _this_, fuck _this_…

She faced the pool once more. "Have a seat, I guess."

Like an eager kid invited to sit with the older, cooler kids, I pulled out a chair, nearly toppling it as its metal legs scraped noisily against the ground. I flopped into the seat and threw my stuff across the white plastic tabletop. What followed next were the two most silent, awkward, excruciating minutes of my life.

"So, uh…" I began. She turned to face me, bored.

I had done my part. Except clearly no one has ever taught Lauren Mallory the etiquette of silence breaking, because after I'd stuck my neck out, she made no effort to snatch the conversation from me and carry us out of such awkward territory. This continued silence of hers was not right or proper, and God, I felt like such as ass for starting a sentence I couldn't intelligently finish.

I forced a smile. Then I continued to stick my neck out all giraffe-like. "You, uh…" _Don't say it._ "You come here often?"

Jesus Christ.

I saw the corners of her lips twitch, but she didn't quite laugh. "No, not really," she replied, completely free of snark. "I prefer to tan in the backyard, but, like, we've got these landscapers over today and I'd rather not be like, their eye candy, you know?"

I glanced around. "And you thought you'd rather risk it at the pool, where pervs like me hang out?'

She opened her mouth slightly, surprised, and then I saw understanding light her eyes as she pulled off her sunglasses and put them down on the table. "You're making fun of me," she stated, but didn't necessarily sound angry.

"Well, you only accused me of being one about eight million times," I replied, laughing lightly over the strangeness of this conversation. Were we arguing? Chatting? Wittily bantering? Whatever we were doing, it wasn't nearly as hard as I'd thought it would be.

"Well," she said, straightening in her seat, "you did, like, kind of act like one."

I frowned. "C'mon," I told her, leaning forward a little, "we both know that's bull."

Now she frowned, and I have to say, it was really weird to discover that the sight of her scowling in self-righteous anger was about a million times more preferable to her frowning, because, Christ, seeing her eyebrows furrow like that and her lips turn downward was the most heart-tugging sight I'd seen in months, and that included a batch/litter/whatever of little pink newborn puppies for fuck's sake. "Of course," she said, but she didn't sound certain of her words at all. Despite my pathetic distress over her frown, I felt anger swell inside me again, because seriously, she was always accusing me. Suddenly her earlier comment about not wanting to be eye candy for the landscapers began to annoy me. Not everyone was in total lust with her, who did she think she was?

She looked like she was ready to let this pass, but now I was beginning to get riled up. "I mean, you totally hate my guts, and for what?" I challenged, leaning even closer.

She shook her head. "No," she told me carefully, "_you_ hate _me_. Or you at least don't like me."

"Well…" I replied, which was probably not the best follow up to her statement, but it had just slipped out, because _don't_ I hate her? _Doesn't_ she piss me off? As much as I'm attracted to her, aren't I equally as repulsed?

She looked like she was about to get up, so I said quickly, "Wait! Are you trying to say you don't hate me?"

She just stared at me for a few seconds before flipping her sunglasses back on. "Not as much as I should," she replied flatly. Then she craned her neck to look around her shoulder. "I have to go or I'm going to lose my chair." And then she was up and out of her seat, flip-flopping over to one of the few open lawn chairs to continue tanning.

Not as much as I should.

_Not as much as I should_.

One would think that, considering I'm in the same boat, I would know what she means by that. But it's exactly the opposite: I have no fucking clue.

What the hell, life? What the hell?

--

**July 15, 2007**

Yesterday evening Jake popped over my house before heading over to the Cullens' and asked me if I wanted to come.

"Sorry, I can't," I told him. "Edward will murder me."

"Um, and why exactly is that?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

He sighed. "Rachel asked you about the popsicles, didn't she?"

"Your sister is twisted," I accused.

He just laughed. "Tell me about it. I'm gonna have to say it's genetic, though." As an explanation, he pulled something out of the plastic bag he was holding in one hand: a box of popsicles. "For Nessie," he explained.

"You are so dead. Edward will hear your thoughts, and that is wrong on _so_ many levels."

"Lighten up, Seth. My intentions towards Nessie are nothing but pure. It's Edward I want to mess with. Haven't you ever done something just because there was a risk of pissing people off?"

"Yeah, like that time I stole your clothes after you went skinny dipping in—"

"That was YOU?"

"Hey, would you look at the time!" I cried loudly as he playfully lunged for me. "You better get over there before bedtime!"

"You are so fucking _dead_ tomorrow, Seth!" Jake cried as he backed down my drive and into his waiting car.

"Not as dead as you are when Edward peeks into your mind tonight!"

Mom and Leah must think I'm clinically insane, because all throughout the night I kept thinking about what major balls it took for Jake to carry through with the seemingly innocent act of bringing popsicles for Nesseroo, and I ended up laughing into my pillow every time.

But now that I think about it, it would have been even more hilarious if he'd brought hot tamales or something for her, because that would probably piss off Edward twice as much, because—

OH MY GOD, I HAVE ISSUES. I AM GOING TO HELL. THIS ENTRY IS ENDING RIGHT NOW.

--

**July 18, 2007**

Oh, for the love of all that's holy.

Fucking hell. I mean, if I thought being a modern day mythological creature was tough, what with all of my fears about imprinting, I don't even know what to say about Tyler. Or Caroline for that matter, but mostly my mind is on Tyler at this moment, because OH MY GOD, WHAT IF I END UP LIKE HIM?

I feel like I'm about to throw up.

--

**Later**

So earlier today I was chilling with Paul and Embry, playing a game of three-person chess which involved Paul and I tag-teaming on Embry and still sucking up the joint so badly that we'd lost almost all of our pieces before we managed to knock out just one of his. I absolutely love the fact that summer is so long and empty that, despite all the other shit going on in my life, there's still time to fuck around doing absolutely nothing of consequence.

Anyway, Paul was all, "Who the hell taught you to play chess anyway?" and I was all, "Um, I'm pretty sure it was you, dumbass," and Embry was all, "Checkmate," and then Brady was pounding on the frame of Paul's screen door as he peered into the house, shouting, "Code Orange, ladies! Code! Fucking! Orange!"

Latching onto this opportunity to postpone our epic loss, Paul and I got up from our chairs and headed to the door through which we could see Brady already heading down the porch steps in order to spread the news further, because I guess we're so primitive around here that instead of relying on cell phones for news updates, we use a teenager going door-to-door as our all-inclusive Homeland Security.

"Dude, wait!" Paul called out. "What the fuck is a Code Orange?"

Brady stopped and turned around as we pushed open the creaking door and clomped onto the wooden porch. "They've opened the Iron Curtain, obviously."

"What?"

"The red's in the gray!"

"Brady, what the hell?"

"Operation Burning Neptune is a go!"

"_English_, please!"

"That _is_ English!"

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US?"

Brady rolled his eyes, puffed a sigh out through his nostrils, and stomped back up the steps so he was level with Paul and I. He leaned in close and whispered, "There's some Makah dude in La Push. Dunno what he's up to, though."

Paul and I looked at each other. "Wait, what?" I asked, turning my attention back to Brady. "Like, there's this mega-fox just strolling through the streets, or what?"

Brady shook his head. "Uh-uh. He's human and everything. He went to three houses at first but now seems to be heading for just one spot in particular, but no one knows where—"

"Jake?" I asked urgently. "Or Sam?"

Paul snarled, "He had better not be anywhere _near_ the Blacks' house."

"Doubtful. Sam's phased right now, watching him from the woods, I guess. That's what Jacob told me, anyway, and now I'm just his errand boy or some shit, I don't know. He's not heading for either of the pack leaders' homes, but he apparently means business—"

"It's Tyler," Embry cut in from inside his house, behind the screen door, startling us all.

As my stomach filled with dread, I couldn't help but snap, "Are we in a fucking soap opera or something? Serious-fucking-ly. How do you know that, anyway?"

Embry shuffled his feet and looked at the ground. "Cuz I went to Neah Bay to look for him the other day," he mumbled, sounding as though he wanted to kick himself. "He wasn't home, but word must've gotten around."

I really couldn't help it. "Seriously, Embry?" I asked in a disbelieving whine. Because it's one thing to care about a girl, and another thing entirely to go stalking her secret boyfriend, if you ask me. The latter just reeks of desperation, and as much as I look up to Embry, I couldn't help but think of this as a dick move on his part.

ANYWAY. MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DISCUSS.

We were all discussing the possibilities of Tyler's presence in La Push (our default being, "He wants to kick your ass, Embry") when all of a sudden…there he was.

As he walked gracefully across Paul's front lawn, I couldn't help but notice how fox-like Tyler was in appearance. He was tall and lean, and moved nimbly over the grass, like one wrong move and he could go all quick-footed ninja warrior on us. His face was long and thin, his nose pointed and mouth small, with sharp brown eyes and dark hair cropped close to his head. Around his neck he wore a necklace beaded with what looked like dozens of teeth from varying animals.

"Is one of you Embry Call?" he asked us unfalteringly, and his voice came out deeper than I would have expected.

Now, me, I was all for instantly pointing to Embry and moving out of harm's way like a fucking coward, but Paul stepped forward, chin tipped high, and demanded, "What's it to you?"

The Makah stopped before he reached the porch steps and watched the four of us with narrowed, slit-like eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and let his breath out in a sigh. "I want to warn him."

Embry pushed past Paul and walked down the steps to stand mere inches away from Tyler. They were almost matched in height, but Tyler had him beat by a hair's breadth. "Then warn me."

To my surprise, Tyler took a step back and looked downwards instead of sizing up his competition. "It's not about Caroline," he explained, but then shook his head as if to retract his words. "I mean, it _is_ about her, but not in the way you think. I'm not…angry. At her. I couldn't be."

I looked over at Brady and he shrugged, his face mirroring the "What the fuck?" look I'm sure was on mine.

Embry said, "But you're angry at me?"

"Not…exactly." Tyler straightened to stand his ground again and looked Embry in the eyes. "I'm not necessarily saying this because I want to, or because I think it's the right thing to do, but, well, we're going to be allies one way or another, so just…be careful. Not next Sunday, but the following one, there's going to be trouble. I can almost guarantee it."

Allies one way or another?

Embry pressed him for more information, but Tyler couldn't answer them. "I'm bound by skulk rules. It's impossible for me to get any more specific." Here, I found myself actually feeling for the Makah, because Jacob never used his alpha powers to force us into anything, and Sam hardly ever used it unless he felt it was absolutely necessary. I know how it feels, being physically unable to speak of something, and it is far from pleasant, unless you _like_ extreme muscle-burning pain. It is such a torturously unsatisfying feeling, being unable to speak of something, like being trapped under a frozen lake, scrambling desperately to find an opening in the ice above, knowing all the while that there will never be an escape, a release, that breath of fresh air eternally out of reach.

"Thank you, Tyler," Embry finally said, sounding a little defeated. "For what it's worth, I didn't know about you when Caroline and I were—involved. If I'd known there was someone back at Neah Bay, I—"

"You really don't know the whole story, do you?" Tyler interrupted, sounding genuinely surprised.

Paul, Brady, and I shared a group glance that barked something along the lines of "Ruh roe!"

"Caroline and I were together once. But that was awhile ago. Everything was fine until she first phased into a fox. You see, I…" He sighed and clearly looked uncomfortable telling this story. He was running a hand over his face and shifting his weight from foot to foot. If I were Embry, I might have put him out of his misery and asked him to stop, but then again, how can I condemn Embry for being curious and needing to know? Tyler continued, "When I first phased, almost a year before Caroline, I immediately imprinted on her, though she was nothing more than a family friend at the time. But she…"

Tyler couldn't finish.

But Embry could.

"She didn't imprint back," he whispered.

"No," Tyler agreed sadly. "She didn't. And she cares for you in a way that she doesn't feel she can care for me, so I came here on her behalf. I've said all I can say. Good luck." He looked at those of us still crowded on Paul's porch for a moment, then turned around and—_SHABAM!_—phased in front of our eyes before taking off running down the street and out of our sights.

God. Fuck. I don't even know what to think anymore.

I still can barely wrap my head around it. He imprinted on her, but when she phased, _she didn't imprint back_. I cannot even _begin_ to imagine the heartbreak, the loneliness, the sadness, the "Why, God,_ why_?" of the whole thing. It's making me sick just thinking about it. As if I wasn't already terrified of imprinting. Now I have to worry about imprinting on a La Push girl who could potentially phase one day herself and leave me high and dry through no fault of her own.

I can't deal with this shit. How does Tyler deal with this shit?

And now that Embry knows Caroline still cares for him, will he be able to be with her without thinking of the agony he is unintentionally causing Tyler? I'm not sure I could.

Life is not fair. Life is cruel. It gave Tyler the gift of love and then it just ripped it away from him. I know there's all that bullshit about how it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but what kind of consolation is that, really, when you are bound by stupid, stupid mythological forces to spend your whole eternal life in a state of heartbreak?

I'm sorry. Embry is my friend, but I think I'm on Tyler's side.

This sucks harder than anything in the entire fucking world.

And on top of all this, I now have to pitch in and help pay Paul's parents for a new porch, because unfortunately, it left quite a mess when all of our heads exploded in Tyler's wake.

--

**July 19, 2007**

Considering all the retarded and ridiculous things that go on in my life, it would be logical for me to be well-equipped to handle shock and surprise by now. But this is yet another area in which I completely defy logic, because I obviously possess an extreme inability to adjust to anything remotely out of the ordinary, most recently evidenced by my gut response to the Tyler dilemma.

After giving myself about eighty-six ulcers worrying about my almost-certain plunge into loneliness and despair later in life spurned by unrequited imprinting, I did the only thing I could think to do in my desperation: I picked up the phone and dialed the Mallorys' number.

What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me? It gets better, though, just wait.

"Hey, is, uh, Lauren there?" I asked when Mrs. Mallory picked up.

"Sure, just a sec'," she replied. There was a shuffling noise as she covered the receiver with her hand, but apparently not well enough, because I still heard her as she yelled, "Lauren? Telephone! It's a _boy_!"

MY LIFE. WHY?

I can only imagine that Lauren's thoughts were the same as mine, only times eight million. Or so.

"Hello?" Lauren's voice, slightly nasal, filled my ear. Before I could say anything, she went, "Hang on—Mom! Get _off_ the phone now!" This was followed by a click and a sigh. "Sorry about my mom. She's like _so_ nosy."

"Um, no problem."

There was a long pause. Then—

"Are you, like, going to tell me who this is?"

"Oh! Yeah! Sorry!" I felt my face heat up. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "This is, uh, Seth. Clearwater. Jason's friend?"

"I know who you are," she replied quickly, sounding slightly irritated after I slapped on that last retarded identification. There was another pause before she prompted, "Is there something you want?" It didn't come across as nasty—just cautious.

"Actually, yeah," I said. I thought of Tyler, sad and resigned, and of Embry and Caroline, seizing chances willingly without knowing the outcomes, and I continued, "Wanna go out tomorrow night?"

As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back and spare myself from ridicule. My stomach clenched, but I didn't hang up the phone. Not without knowing for sure.

"What did you have in mind?"

To be honest, I hadn't thought this far into it. "Uh…pizza?" I improvised.

She was impossible to interpret as she repeated carefully, "Pizza."

"Yeah. There's this place not too far from Forks High—"

"Rosario's, I know."

"It's really good."

"I know."

I swallowed and began to fiddle with an old pop can on my bedside table. "So, uh…is that…"

"A yes?" she finished. Sounding a little unsure, she clarified, "Yeah, I guess it is."

My stomach unclenched and I was so relieved that I could have simply floated through the roof. "You're not one for boosting a guy's ego, are you?"

That elicited a laugh from her. "No, not really." She sighed. "You really are, like, too young for me, Seth."

"But you agreed to go out with me anyway."

A pause. Was she going to change her mind?

"I'll see you tomorrow," she told me. "At six." Was that a smile I detected in her voice?

"Six," I affirmed, and right after that she hung up the phone. I was grinning too widely for my own good. And I still would be now if I hadn't just realized that I don't know whether I'm picking her up or meeting her there.

Shit. Do I call her back? What if she decides I'm an idiot and changes her mind? But if I assume one way and it's actually the other, she'll hate me for real. Either way, if I get it wrong, it'll look like I'm standing her up. Shit shit shit.

I think I need to go to Paul for advice.

And I can't believe I actually just wrote that. Christ. Desperate fucking times call for desperate fucking measures.

* * *

**A/N: **I love all of you. I'm sorry it takes me so long to update nowadays, but I already promised myself that I would finish this story even if it kills me. I _need_ to finish telling Seth's tale. I'm too deeply involved to back out now.

A few (not so) quick things:

1) I'm interested to hear a whole range of opinions on the newest revelation in the Embry/Caroline/Tyler plotline. Just like I'm big on minor characters, I'm also big on questioning just what imprinting is all about, and what shapes it can take, if that makes sense. I know this situation is slightly controversial, but I think that's why it excites me so much.

2) I regret to say that this story has (somehow, someway) reached the point where I can no longer personally respond to all reviews. I wish I could, but I just don't have the time. Still, please know that I read and appreciate everything you have to say, whether you're a new reader, a one-time reviewer, one of those people who likes to send PMs rather than leave reviews (someone explain this to me, please?), a constructive critic, a loyal supporter who reads and reviews every chapter, or any combination of the above. You're all amazing.

3) I know a girl who knows a girl who once masturbated with a popsicle. That's all I'm gonna say on the matter.


	12. A Clusterfuck of Signals

**Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth  
**_Chapter Twelve_

**July 19, 2007**

UUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Welcome aboard the failboat, ladies and gents. My name is Seth and I'll be your captain.

--

**July 20, 2007**

So I've been having all these flashbacks to fourth grade or something. I'm sitting in the back seat of the car, wearing a green rain coat and old rubber boots that are too small and pinching my toes. Leah's sitting in the passenger seat, being all prissy and fashionable or whatever it is fourteen-year-old girls do, and Mom's at the wheel. The closer we get to QTS, the farther down in her seat Leah slouches, like being dropped off by a parent is on par with being a hunchback or something. And when we get there, Leah flings open the door and _bolts_ out, backpack over one shoulder, hood pulled down over her head. And then there's me, scrambling forward to kiss Mom on the cheek before basically tripping out of the car with my too-big arms and legs to avoid Leah's footsteps at all costs, on penalty of death.

I was the lucky one, Leah says. By the time I was old enough to care who saw me getting dropped off at school and by whom, Leah could drive, and there's never really any shame in hitching a ride with your older sister or her boyfriend.

But now I've been getting all these dizzying flashbacks because I think I'm beginning to understand how Leah felt during those years, sinking lower and lower in her seat, too young to drive, but too old to want to be seen getting dropped off by Mom or Dad, the _horror_.

Okay, so the point I'm trying to get at here is that I am going to look like the biggest asshole in front of the hottest girl I've ever met.

And it's all Leah's fault. Naturally.

And you know, it is _just like_ the universe to do this to me. Finally, something goes my way. Lauren Mallory, bane and joy of my existence, agrees to go on a date with me, and everything is great for a grand total of fourteen seconds before I remember that, OH YEAH, my sister has FUCKING COLLEGE ORIENTATION Saturday morning and is driving to Seattle Friday afternoon so she doesn't have to get up at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday. And Mom is conveniently working late tonight, so she can't meet Leah until later, but she'll be taking the car, which is honestly all I care about because that means that I HAVE NO CAR FOR MY DATE TONIGHT.

Enter Paul.

Me: "Shit. How do you take a girl out if you don't have a car?"

Paul: "Tandem bike?"

Me: "Oh, that's real cute."

Paul: "You mean you don't think she'll find it charming?"

Me: "You obviously do not know Lauren Mallory."

Paul: "And she obviously does not know you."

Me: "What is that supposed to mean?"

Paul: "Just that, well, if she's as high maintenance as you're making her sound…why exactly is she going out with someone like _you_? No offence."

Me: "None taken. Oh God, what am I going to do? I won't cancel."

Paul: "Rachel's been complaining about how there's not enough romance in our lives. She says that just because my imprint binds me to her eternally doesn't mean I get out of actually having to _prove_ my boundless love every once in awhile. So we'll go with you to this pizza place. One of us'll drive."

Me: "A double date? You're making me take Lauren on a double date?"

Paul: "It's either that or cancel, dude."

Me: "I hate it when you're right."

Paul: "Yeah, me too."

Me: "What?"

Paul: "With great power comes great responsibility, you know."

Me: "Being right is a power?"

Paul: "Women seem to think so."

Me: "Just…pick me up at 5:30, will you?"

Paul: "Ahaha, say that again."

Me: "Why?"

Paul: "I dunno. Something about you needing a ride from me makes you sound like my bitch."

Me: "You're the one giving me a ride. Doesn't that make you _my_ bitch?"

Paul: "Um. No."

Me: "I'm pretty sure it does. You're like my chauffer."

Paul: "I'm like your mom giving you a ride to school. Way embarrassing. Lauren's gonna think you're a total pansy."

Me: "Whatever, bitch."

Paul: "You sound like a gay guy."

Me: "You mom sounds like a gay guy. See you at 5:30, Paul."

Paul: "I am so telling my mom you said that."

--

**Later**

Paul and Rachel are gonna be here in like five minutes. I don't understand why I'm freaking out so much. Am I a five-year-old girl?

Probably not. But it's a possibility.

I have to take a piss. I have to take a piss. I have to take a piss.

I'm gonna go take a piss. Then I'm gonna be a total stud(muffin) and take Lauren on the greatest double date she's ever been on. Right? Right.

Oh my God, I'm going to puke.

--

**Even Later**

I did not puke.

I did not fall flat on my face. I did not get stood up. I did not accidentally call her Mom. I did not spill anything on my shirt. I did not spill anything on my pants. I did not spill anything on her. I did not punch Paul in the face. I did not grope her inappropriately. I did not fart (loudly). I did not forget my wallet. I did not have my fly down. I did not hum along to that obnoxious Avril Lavigne song—HEY HEY YOU YOU I DON'T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND HEY HEY YOU YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP—when it played in the restaurant.

I consider these small victories, and I enjoy celebrating the small victories in life. Each one makes me feel special, like I deserve a little gold star. I should make a chart for myself and hang it in my room, and every time I do something that _doesn't_ completely fuck up my life, I'll give myself a star. And when I get enough stars, I'll reward myself by using my twenty-year-old appearance to buy copy of _Hustler_ and then start the star collection process all over again.

Aaaaaaaaaanyway. Tangent time is over.

THE BLOW-BY-BLOW:

**5:30 p.m.** – Paul arrived, sitting shotgun in Rachel's car. I should have known. This is typical of their relationship. Rachel loves wearing the pants, I think mostly because she knows she can get away with it. I mean, Paul _could_ try to be all "I AM MAN, HEAR ME ROAR," which fits his personality if you ask me, but his weakness for Rachel is so great that he doesn't even seem bothered by her control complex.

Yet another reason why I'm not in a hurry to imprint.

Not that I'm against girls taking control or anything. I'm definitely not a male chauvinist, and neither is Paul. But watching him back down against Rachel is weird, because backing down just isn't what Paul does. As much as I whine about how sucky it is to be me, I don't want to lose any of me when I imprint, get it?

Anyway, I climbed into the backseat of the car and prayed to every god of whose existence I'm aware that Lauren wouldn't turn right around back into her house when she saw me sitting in the backseat of some car accompanied by two strangers. I prayed so hard that Paul must have glanced in the rearview, saw my eyes shut tight, and asked if I was suffering from constipation.

**5:59** – We arrived. I told the wiggly snakes in my stomach to stop making such a commotion, then scrambled to get out of the car and ring the bell before Lauren came out and saw me sitting in the back like a loser.

We met halfway.

I was almost up the driveway when Lauren came out the front door, looking like she'd just stepped out of an episode of _That 70's Show_. The waist of her wide jeans was ridiculously high, but she looked good, and I lost the spirit to make fun of her.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," she said.

"It's uh…that's Rachel. Driving. And her boyfriend Paul. They're friends of mine."

"Oh, okay," she said.

And that was that.

**6:02** – The short ride to the restaurant was fun, in the way that I knew I'd wind up laughing about it later. There was silence at first, and while Lauren looked cool and collected, I was sweating, the snakes in my stomach were sweating, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Don't worry," Paul suddenly said loudly, and I knew he was talking to Lauren. My gut told me to launch over the back of his seat and cut out his voice box before he could say anything else, but my seatbelt was obnoxiously locked and I could hardly move forward an inch if I wanted to. Paul continued, "Seth obviously isn't a charmer yet, but he'll get there. Give him time."

"I dunno," Rachel cut in, and I _think_ she was trying to make up for her soulmate's idiocy. "You used to talk about how you'd grow into a charmer one day, too, and look where we are."

"You mean I'm not charming?" Paul cried, only half-offended. "My pick-up lines don't _turn you on_?"

"Oh God, here we go. Sorry, guys," she apologized to Lauren and me.

"I'm a really great thief, because your heart stole…uh…" Paul fumbled, losing the race before he was even out of the gate.

That's Paul's thing. He fucks up pick up lines. I used to think he did it on purpose because when they first started dating, Rachel thought his ineptitude was cute. But he still does it now that they're a sure thing, and there's always so much sincerity involved that I've been forced to believe that he's genuinely messing up each time. He tries, he really does, but simple cheese escapes him.

"Well, okay, I forget that one. Something about hearts and thieves. But try this: Are you lost? Paradise is a lot farther this time of year!"

"That's not how it goes," Rachel said as she made a smooth left turn.

"That, like, doesn't even make sense," Lauren added.

And that was how we occupied the rest of the car ride. Paul stumbled his way through cheesy pick-up lines, Rachel corrected him, and I tried not to get too mortified. I glanced at Lauren about a thousand times, and I heard her laugh twice, so it could have been worse, but I still wanted to kill Paul.

Sure, at least Lauren wasn't bored. But I wasn't the one entertaining her.

**6:15** – We ordered pizza. We made small talk. We made some larger talk, but nothing too terribly groundbreaking. She laughed at some stuff I said, I genuinely laughed at some stuff she said, and it was good, I guess. She just seemed very…reserved around me. And aloof. Her responses were generally short and civil, the topics were safe and…and the whole thing was very _bland_.

OH GOD, was all I could think, WE LACK CHEMISTRY.

All girls talk about is chemistry. They need that _spark_, or whatever.

This is going to sound sick, but I feel like Lauren and I have more fun when we're arguing. But she was being very non-confrontational and I was being very non-confrontational and yeah, I sort of wanted to pull her out back and make out with her, but I was so aware of how little we have in common and how much older she is and how much cooler she is and how silly her retro clothes are.

I was starting to think this was all just a very bad idea. I mean, who was I kidding?

**6:45-ish** – The only chance I had to make small talk alone with her was after I got up to go to the bathroom. It was the most retarded thing ever. I was just coming out of the bathroom, and as I was going through the doorway, I saw her passing as she went to the ladies' room, presumably. We did this awkward smile thing, fancy seeing you here, and she was about to continue on her way when I was like, "Sorry about, uh, Paul and Rachel. I didn't mean—this wasn't supposed to be, like…"

"A double date?" she finished, and this weird silence fell between us, because that was the first time one of us had even acknowledged this outing as an actual _date_, and even the way she said it was strange, like she wasn't quite sure that was what we were doing. It didn't _feel_ like a date, not exactly. It felt like I was hanging out with friends, just one of whom happened to make my heart go all funky simply by existing.

I coughed and scratched my head. "Yeah…"

"Don't worry about it," she finally said, and I could feel her trying to reach my eyes. I looked at her and she held my gaze. "I've, like, definitely had worse dates. Trust me." She laughed—was this funny?—and shook her head. "College guys can be such pigs."

"So I'm at least one step above a pig," I said cheerfully. "That's good."

"The night's not over," she replied warningly, her pale eyebrows rising up her forehead. "There's still plenty of time for you to like, 'accidentally' grope my boob or something."

I sucked in my breath. "Jeez, I would never do that. Did a guy actually do that to you on a date?"

She pursed her lips and let out a sigh through her nostrils. Nostrils, nostrils, nostrils. That's such a weird word. Nostrils. Lauren's nostrils. Lauren let out a sigh through her nostrils, nostrils, hostile nostrils, Nostrildamus, nosssssstril, nose-trill, nots-trill, nozz-trill, Lauren's nozz-trills. ANYWAY. "Like I said," she lamented, "college guys are pigs."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, that's life." She wasn't looking at me anymore. "I make a point to keep my expectations low nowadays."

That stung, but I played it cool…ish. "Oh, _I_ see. Thanks a _ton_—"

"You know that's not what I meant." She rolled her eyes and shifted her purse on her shoulder. "You're different from a lot of the guys I've dated or, like, given a chance throughout the years."

Different? Was this good? Bad? "What do you mean?" I asked.

She laughed. "You won't like my response."

"Come on." The hallway we were standing in was narrow and dim, and I liked being this close to her. Sure, I didn't know where I stood with her in the figurative sense, but in the literal sense, it was nice to be just a few steps away.

"First off, you're younger. You're, like, still in high school, and I usually go for the older guys, because they're supposedly more mature and will treat you better, but _that _is starting to seem like a total urban legend. You're also not, like…popular, I guess is the best way to say it. No, that's not exactly it. I mean, you're not as socially _out there._" She waved her hand for effect, though it didn't necessarily help her make her point. "You're kind of awkward, I guess," she finally concluded. "You're not a smooth talker. You don't always have the right words, and you don't really, like, care about that. Also, you were an ass the first time we met."

Okay, I could almost forgive her for basically calling me a complete social failure, because she's kind of got a point there, but calling me an ass was totally out of line.

"What?" I cried. "You ran a shopping cart into me!"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. I had a hard time reading her face, since it was kind of dim in the hallway. She took a step away, as if trying to slowly inch herself out of an unwanted conversation. Finally, she told me, "That's what I thought you'd say." She lifted her chin, like someone trying to regain lost pride, and then excused herself to go to the bathroom, because, "Like, I really have to pee."

My brain was BAFFLED. It also felt slightly BRUISED and BEATEN.

I kept thinking about it the rest of the night. She never brought it up again after coming back from the bathroom, and I personally think it's because she liked watching me sweat it out. Did she think I was an ass because I'd made that time machine comment? Why did I make that time machine comment? No, she deserved that! She ran a shopping cart into me! And she dressed weird. Not my fault. Why did she think I'd mention her running the shopping cart into me? Does she think I'm the kind of guy who likes to make all disagreements someone else's fault? I'm not! What else could she have possibly meant by that statement? Is she still under the impression that I'm a perv? A perv who's also an ass? I could analyze this to death and the only thing I would come away with is that I AM CRAP AT ANALYZING THESE KINDS OF THINGS.

Why can't girls just say exactly what they mean? That would make life so much easier.

**6:50** – I thought I'd totally killed the date after the run-in outside the bathrooms, but I'm not really so sure. After all, the date had kind of been dead already, bland as it was, and after we lost our footing, things actually seemed more normal.

For us, I mean. Normal for me and Lauren.

I guess I figured I'd already fucked it up, so I stopped giving a shit, really, and just did and said whatever the hell I wanted to do and say. After we were done eating but before the waiter gave us the bill, I grabbed everyone's wrinkled straw wrappers and bunched them all together. I dipped my straw into the watery remains of my Coke and had just pressed my thumb over the top opening when Lauren said, "Oh my God, boys aren't satisfied until the entire table is a mess."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked as I dripped diluted pop onto the shriveled straw wrappers and watched them writhe and expand on the clichéd checkerboard tablecloth.

"I _mean_ that I haven't done that since I was, like, seven."

"I'm in touch with my inner child," I retorted.

"Code for immature."

"Hold up," Paul interrupted from across the table. "First you guys hardly talk to each other. Now you just bicker. I'm just a little confused here. Do you even _like _each other?"

Things got awkward and quiet then, because neither of us wanted to be the first to answer. I didn't want to be all, "Oh yeah, we totally fucking hate each other," because then maybe she'd really think I hate her, which I kind of do, only not really. Just sort of. Sometimes. But I also didn't want to be like, "Duh, we're totally obsessed with each other, can't you tell?" And I don't even need to explain why that wouldn't have gone over well.

And while I was freaking out internally or whatever, Lauren finally just shrugged and said, "We're here, aren't we?"

And although that didn't exactly answer Paul's question, it was the closest thing he'd ever get to an answer. She and I were there. On a maybe-date. Liking or not liking each other was irrelevant.

**7:30** – When we got back to her house, I walked her to the door.

"Thanks for dinner," she said, even though we'd gone Dutch.

"Yeah, thanks for coming."

"I'll tell Jason you said hi."

"I'm glad he doesn't care that, you know, _this_ happened."

"Oh, he doesn't know."

"Oh."

"Anyway. Have a nice night, Seth."

She already had her hand on the doorknob and was about to go in when I suddenly said her name and reached out to stop her. When my hand landed on her forearm, she turned to look at me with her mouth open, and I withdrew quickly. She didn't say anything about how warm I was, but I could see that she was startled.

"We don't have to—to be done right here. I mean, I'm sure there's a movie showing or…"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and I knew what she was going to say before she said it. "I think I'm just gonna call it a night."

"Oh, of course, yeah, no big deal."

She turned to go again, but stopped of her own accord this time. She looked over her shoulder at me and cast a smile in my direction. "You know, Seth, you're, like, the first boy in a long time that's been nervous around me." And then she was gone.

I don't even remember what Paul and Rachel said to me when I got back in the car.

I'm not gonna try to over-analyze this. What happened, happened. End.

Yeah, says the boy who just wrote an eleven page recap.

But seriously, I'm not gonna try to think about this too much anymore. At least, not neurotically. I think I'm allowed to think about the way she smiled at me right before she went inside, right? There's nothing wrong with thinking about that smile, is there? I may not understand why she agreed to get pizza with me despite thinking I'm a social retard; I may not understand how much she actually likes or dislikes me; I may not understand why I disappointed her outside the bathrooms. But that smile…I understand that smile.

That smile had been _real_.

--

**July 22, 2007**

Mom and Leah are back from orientation.

"So, what'd you do while we were gone?" my mom asked.

"Uh, patrolled the forests. Ate lots of beef. Arm wrestled with Jake. You know."

No way was I admitting that I'd gone on a date with a girl then spent the rest of the night lying on my bed writing in a man-journal (a.k.a. diary) about it.

I mean, I'm all for defying our culture's heteronormative viewpoints, but that's a little gay, even for me.

--

**July 23, 2007**

I wish I had cool prophetic dreams. Then I could run to the guys and be like, "Dudes! I know exactly what's going on with the Makahs! See, I had this dream where a bunch of foxes were dancing around a fire, except their shadows were wolves, which is symbolic for this, that, and the other thing, and blah blah blah." And then I'd be known as the Prophet of La Push and people would pay me to sleep and have profound dreams and life would be sweet.

Instead I'm stuck with random-ass dreams that cause me to wake up all tangled in my sheets, going, "What the fuck?"

Take this morning for example. In my dream, I was sitting in the remedial history classroom, and Pru and Jason M. and Travis Reynolds were there, which made no sense because none of my friends are in that class (they were done with summer school after the first "semester," the lucky bastards) and Travis Reynolds went to QTS for only two years before his family moved away from the Rez, and I haven't even thought about him for like five years.

Anyway, we were sitting there, learning about black holes, and then Jason M. was all, "Your attempt to get into my pants is cavalier and all, but I'll pass, thanks," and I was like, "Wait, I thought Pru said that," and then Travis started to laugh and his mouth turned into a giant black hole that were all sucked into, except inside wasn't a deep space vacuum, it was First Beach, and we were celebrating Guy Fawkes Day.

"Remember, remember, the third of December!" Pru cried.

"I don't think that's right," I told her, or at least I meant to. Instead I said, "Let's make some s'mores," and we did. We put sugar-free marshmallows on sticks that materialized in our hands and roasted them over the fire in which Nacho Libre from that Jack Black movie was burning in effigy.

And then some other shit I don't remember happened, and Jake and I were sitting on the sand, drinking beers and talking about SOHCAHTOA, the Indian princess of trigonometry, and I finally woke up just as Brady had joined Jake and I to tell us how fucking awesome Crocs are.

So, when we had a mandatory wolf meeting today, I had nothing cool to contribute.

Sam was all, "I saw a crescent moon in my sleep," and hell, if I'd seen a crescent moon in my sleep, I'd talk about it and its symbolism, too. But as it was, the best I could say was, "Well, remember Travis Reynolds? After he moved, his mouth turned into a black hole. At least, that's what Google tells me. Could be the wrong Travis Reynolds. It's a common name, right?"

I'm starting to think that I'm doing cocaine in my sleep. Sleep snorting, I believe it's called.

Actually, I think I'm just antsy. We all are.

See, ever since Tyler came and gave us the biggest mindfuck of our lives, we've been trying to analyze just what he meant when he said something bad was going to happen a week from today, and that we were going to be "allies one way or another."

The truth is, none of us know. And we can hold all of these meetings that we like, but I don't think that's going to prepare us any more for what's to come.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want a fight. I want a fight so badly that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and have to pee for like, forty-five straight seconds because I'm _that worked up_ about it. Like a little kid who is overly excited to go to Disney World. I don't tell anyone else this, mostly because I'm afraid they'll want to stick me in a psycho ward, and partly because I think they'd be right to do so.

I'm part _wolf_. And the only reason nature has allowed me to make that statement is because I'm here to protect. I've got all these instincts, and they're telling me to RIP, TEAR, and KILL, and that is why I want to fight. I want to hear my blood pounding in my ears and I want to bury my claws in my enemy's flesh and I want to _taste_ victory on my tongue.

I am Godzilla, and the backs of my enemy are Tokyo.

"IT'S GOOOOJIIIIRRRAAAA!"

But I don't speak their language of fear.

--

**Later**

_I don't speak their language of fear?!_

Fuck. That. Bullshit.

I'm part _wolf_. And if all of these instincts telling me to RIP, TEAR, and KILL don't cause me to quake all down my spine, I don't know what does.

It's not just that, the craving to taste victory on my tongue and whatever else I was rambling about, that keeps me up at night, my fingers tingling and my mind buzzing. It's also the uncertainty that eats at me, too. We have no idea what's coming.

No. Idea.

How do you prepare for everything at once?

You can't. We can't.

And then I think of Mom and Charlie and my sister and my friends here in La Push and my friends in Forks and the Cullens and Lauren, Lauren, Lauren, and I don't know what's going to happen to them if we aren't ready for what's coming, and the more I think about it, the sicker I get and the more my stomach churns.

And then the wolf instincts kick in and I'm ready to do _anything_ to protect, and I say retarded shit like "I don't speak their language of fear," which is a lie. Because I do. I understand my enemy's fear and I understand it all a little too well. And if it came to a fight, sure, I'd pretend to not understand their fear in the same way people spew "_No hablo Inglés_" when they don't like where a conversation is going. When things get a little too close for comfort.

Jesus Christ. I need sleep.

--

**July 23, 2007**

"Seth, this is why God invented women."

That's what Collin told me today when I sought out his therapeutic advice. I spent most of remedial history in the fetal position, which was kind of awkward considering I was sitting in a desk. I thought about chilling with Pru and the Jasons afterwards, but then I realized that what I really needed was the wacky, nonsensical advice of someone who _understood_.

"Is that really all you and Brady think about?" I asked. "Women?"

Collin laughed and stretched his legs out into the dirt in front of him. "And you don't?"

He and I were chilling on the step of his porch. I had wanted a beer, but Collin gave me apple juice instead, which was so funny to me for some reason that I laughed for like five minutes straight. So I sipped my apple juice and said, "Well, I mean, yeah, I think about girls—"

"One girl in particular, if Paul is to be believed…" Collin wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I laughed sheepishly into my apple juice and couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, but it's complicated. And not complicated in the way that I'd make it my Facebook relationship status, but just…I don't even know." I sighed and took another swig.

"Complicated in a complicated way."

"Yeah, I…yeah. I guess so."

"So make it uncomplicated."

"Uh, how?"

"Untangle that web, Seth! Call her, talk to her, buy her random little gifts, flirt with her, sweep her off her feet! Do what you've got to do."

Never mind that I don't even know how much I actually like her, even though I think about her all the time. I mean, duh I'm attracted to her, but it's always this crazy attraction where I'm not sure if I want to strangle her or kiss her until her face is blue. I need to ask Edward if this is how it was with Bella, because it all sounds frighteningly similar to me. Except, you know, I don't want to suck Lauren's blood. I just want her to stop being so annoying.

I looked over at Collin, confused. "That isn't the same advice you gave to me way back when."

"Oh, you mean when I told you to get your freak on with some hot bitches?"

"Uh, yeah."

He just grinned and shoved my shoulder. "Things are different now, Seth. Your needs are different. Before, you were sexually frustrated, paranoid of imprinting and in need of some release, in more ways than one."

It kind of freaks me out how he utters innuendoes so nonchalantly.

"But I still am," I protested. "All of those things."

"The curse of being a teenage boy," he lamented to the sky. "But your situation has changed drastically, and instead of just being frustrated, you're on the brink of a possible territorial war with a group of shape-shifters who are supposed to be our allies. And in times of civil war, or any war for that matter, what a man really needs is love."

"This is getting a little too cheesy for me."

He carried on, undaunted by my cynicism. "You need her breath in your ear, the soft caress of her hand along your arm, her body circled in your arms, her smile aligned with yours."

Oh shit, her smile. Her radiant, lip-stretching, breath stopping, real smile. How does he know? How does Collin know all of my weak points?

"It freaks me out," I finally said, kicking at the dirt around my feet, "thinking about what could happen to her if things get out of hand. What if what we're dealing with is too big for just La Push? What if it spills over to Forks? I think of everyone, of course, my family and you and the rest of the guys, but I think of her more than I should, considering how little I really know her and how little we're involved."

Collin laughed and took the glass from my hands. "Then why are you still here talking to me? Go, Seth. Go and get her."

And fuck if I'm not inspired. I think I'm gonna call her now.

--

**Later**

Jesu Christo. Just got off the phone with Lauren.

"You waited _three days _to call me?" she asked the instant she picked up. Damn caller ID.

"What? I—you're the one who wanted to call it a night after dinner! Mixed signals, much?"

"I will send you, like, a clusterfuck of signals if I want."

"Please don't."

"What, no signals? Fine." And then she hung up the phone.

I almost couldn't believe it at first. And then, as usual, my mind freaked out, and I contemplated murdering Collin for making me forget that my pseudo-relationship with Lauren is just a giant pile of shit disguised as something less, I dunno, _shitty_, and—

Caller ID currently reads: Mallory, Arnold.

I fucking love Collin.

* * *

**A/N: **And I fucking love all of you. To little, tiny, heart-shaped pieces.

Some fun stuff: I have a Twitter account now. The link is on my profile. So you can follow me if you're interested in getting updates on my sad and awkward life. Also, sometime later this month I'm going to have a guest spot on the Temptation Twilight Podcast, which I'm super excited about. So be on the lookout for that.

Note to self: more Collin. He's a lot of fun to write.


End file.
